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ROME 


AND 

The  Renaissance 

« 

THE  PONTIFICATE  OF  JUFIUS  II 


FROM  THE  FRENCH  OF 

J U FI  AN  KFACZKO 


AUTHORISED  TRANSLATION  BY 

JOHN  DENNIE 

AUTHOR  OF  “ ROME  OF  TO-DAY  AND  YESTERDAY 


With  52  Illustrations 


G.  P.  PUTNAM’S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 

27  WEST  TWENTY-THIRD  STREET  24  BEDFORD  STREET,  STRAND 

Ube  IRufcfcerbocfter  press 

1903 


Copyright,  1903 

BY 

G.  P.  PUTNAM’S  SONS 


Published,  October,  1903 


TTbe  IRnicfterbocftet  press,  IRcw  JlJorft 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MELOZZO’S  FRESCO  (1475). 

PAGE 

The  Popes  of  the  Renaissance. — Sixtus  IV. — Platina  and  the 
humanists  of  the  Vatican. — The  Nepoti. — Giuliano  della 
Rovere,  Cardinal  of  San  Pietro  in  Vincoli  . . . . 1 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE  STORY  OF  A TOMB  (1505-1506). 

Gigantic  design  of  th & Sepoltura  (April,  1505). — Question  of  its 
place.— Decision  to  rebuild  S.  Peter’s. — The  Rovinante . — 
Laying  of  the  corner-stone  of  the  new  Basilica  (April  iS, 
1506). — Michelangelo’s  flight  from  Rome  (April  17,  1506)  10 

CHAPTER  III. 

THE  OLD  BASILICA  (1505). 

The  Mons  Vaticanus. — The  mediaeval  S.  Peter’s. — The  steps, 
the  atrium , the  quadriporticus,  and  th a'cantkarus. — Con- 
struction of  the  interior. — The  Confessio,  the  Cancelli , and 
the  Cathedra  Petri. — The  oratories  of  the  four  Great 
Relics. — Tombs  of  the  Popes. — The  Sagre  Grotte  . . 28 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  STATUE  AT  BOLOGNA  (1506-1507). 

Julius  II. ’s  first  “ crusade,”  taking  of  Perugia  and  Bologna. — 
Terrors  and  hallucinations  of  Michelangelo. — He  talks  of 
taking  service  with  the  Sultan. — Is  compelled  to  come  to 
Bologna  (Nov.,  1506). — Bronze  statue  of  the  Pope  for  the 
fagade  of  San  Petronio. — Inaugurated  Feb.  21,  1508  ; the 
statue  is  destroyed  in  1511  . 

lii 


47 


IV 


Contents. 


chapter  v. 

ON  the;  threshold  OF  the  SISTINA  (1508). 

PAGE 

Return  of  Michelangelo  to  Rome  (March,  1508). —He  begins 
work  (May  10th) . — Original  relations  between  the  Pope 
and  the  artist. — The  question  of  money.— Michelangelo’s 
family  pride. — His  portrait.— His  character. — Influence 
of  Rome  upon  his  geuius 58 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ROMAN  MARBLES  (1496-1508). 

Michelangelo’s  first  residence  in  Rome  (1496-1499). — The 
antique  marbles. — The  Apollo  of  the  Belvedere. — The  Pietà 
and  Savonarola’s  downfall  (1498-1499). — The  three  great 
principles  derived  by  Michelangelo  from  classic  sculpture. 

— Discovery  of  the  Laocoon  (Jan.  14,  1506)  . . .77 

CHAPTER  VII. 

A VIEW  OF  THE  RINASCIMENTO. 

The  Genius  of  Antiquity  and  the  Cinquecento  . . . 97 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A FAMILY  SANCTUARY  (1505-1508). 

Nero’s  tomb  on  the  Pincio. — Santa  Maria  del  Popolo. — Andrea 
Sansovino. — The  monuments  of  Cardinal  Ascanio  Sforza 
and  Cardinal  Girolamo  Basso. — Character  of  these  two 
works. — The  mausoleum  of  the  Medici  and  the  Pietà  of  the 
Cathedral  of  Florence 103 

CHAPTER  IX. 

“belvedere”  (1509). 

Donato  Bramante  da  Urbino. — His  character. — Unreasonably 
hated  by  Michelangelo. — Bramante’s  Lombard  past.— His 
arrival  in  Rome  (1500).— His  new  style. — The  Tempietto 


Contents. 


v 


PAGE 

(1502) . — The  cloister  of  the  Pace  (1504).— Cardinal  Oliviero 
Caraffa. — Bramante  in  the  service  of  Julius  II. — S.  Peter’s, 

San  Biagio,  and  the  “Belvedere.” — The  Court  of  San  Da- 
maso,  the  Nicchione , and  the  winding  staircase. — Julius 
II. ’s  Viridarium 117 


CHAPTER  X. 
mirabilia  (1509). 

Bulletin  from  the  army  of  Charles  VIII.  (1495) — Roman  guide- 
books in  the  Middle  Ages. — The  Mirabilia  of  Canon 
Albertini  (1509). — The  Nova  Urbs. — Li  Nuptiali  of  Mar- 
cantonio Altieri  (1509) 142 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  “UPPER  ROOMS”  (1508-1509). 

I.  The  appartamento  Borgia  and  the  Camerce  superiores. — 
Perugino’s  ceiling. — Arrival  of  Raffaello. — II.  The  two 
great  powers  of  the  painter  of  the  Stanze. — The  pre-Roman 
Raffaello. — The  Deposizione  of  the  Borghese  Gallery  and 
the  frescos  of  the  first  Stanza 151 


CHAPTER  XII. 

IN  THE  CAMERA  DELLA  SEGNATURA  (1509-1511). 

I.  The  hypothesis  of  a Library. — The  Signatura,  a high  court 
of  appeal. — The  Cambio  in  Perugia. — Sigismondo  de’  Conti 
and  Tommaso  Inghirami. — II.  The  symbolic  and  synthetic 
painting  of  the  Trecento. — Raffaello’s  innovation. — The 
four  great  medallions. — The  Disputa.—  III.  The  seven  dis- 
ciplines of  the  trivimn  and  quadrivium  in  Italian  Art. — 
Raffaello’s  innovation. — The  disciplina  discipiinarum. — 
Aristotle  and  Plato. — The  architecture  of  the  Scuola 
d' Atene  and  the  future  S.  Peter’s. — IV.  The  Parnasso — 
Mantegna’s  picture  and  Raffaello’s  fresco. — The  Homer 
and  the  Apollo.— The  three  Cardinal  Virtues—  Roman 
Law  and  Canon  Law  : Pandects  and  Decretals.—  Restora- 
tions in  the  Camera  della  Segnatura 170 


VI 


Contents. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  world’s  GAME  (1509-1512). 

PAGE 

I,  The  League  of  Cambrai  and  the  battle  of  Aguadello  (May 
14,  1509).— The  absolution  of  Venice  (Feb.  24,  1510)  — 
Louis  XII. ’s  exasperation. — Fuori  i barbari!  (May  17, 
1510b — II.  The  camp  at  Bologna. — Appearance  of  Julius  II. 
during  this  war. — Taking  of  Mirandola  (Jan.  21,  1511) — 
Europe  and  Italy. — Disapproval  of  the  Pope’s  beard. — Re- 
volt of  Bologna  and  defeat  of  the  pontifical  army  (May  21, 
1511). — The  assassination  of  Cardinal  Alidosi  (May  24,  1511). 

— La  Magliana. — The  Convento  dei  Penitenzieri.— Con- 
ciliabulum  of  Pisa. — Julius  II. ’s  return  to  Rome  (June  27, 
1511). — III.  Bull  Sacrosandcs  (July  28,  1511). — Secret  ne- 
gotiations and  artistic  interests  of  the  Pope  (July- August). 

— His  serious  illness  (Aug.  17). — Pompeo  Colonna  and  the 
proposal  to  establish  a Republic  (Aug.  27th). — Federico 
Gonzaga,  the  young  hostage. — The  recovery  of  the  Pope 
and  proclamation  of  the  Holy  League  (Oct.  5th). — Gaston 
de  Foix,  and  the  winter  campaign  of  1512.  — Battle  of  Ra- 
venna (Apr.  11,  1512). — Alarm  at  Rome  and  great  remon- 
strance of  the  cardinals  (April  14th). — Descent  of  the  Swiss 
and  expulsion  of  the  French  (May-June). — Triumph  of 
Julius  II. — Council  of  the  Lateran  and  Te  Deum  of  Dec.  3, 
1512. — The  three  portraits  of  Julius  II.  in  the  Stanze  . 218 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

UNDER  THE  SISTINE  VAULT  (1508-1511). 

I.  Michelangelo’s  “bridge.” — The  Tuscan  frescanti. — The 
labour  of  three  years. — Julius  II. ’s  return  to  Rome  (June 
27,  1511). — Partial  view  of  the  frescos  in  the  week  of  the 
Assumption  (1511). — Universal  enthusiasm. — The  voice  of 
Savonarola. — II.  The  frieze  of  the  Sistina  and  the  paintings 
of  the  vault. — The  Old  Testament  with  Michelangelo’s 
predecessors. — The  Jehovite  spirit. — Genesis. — The  Proph- 
ets and  Sibyls. — III.  The  decorative  element. — Reliefs, 
Caryatides,  and  statues.—  The  figures  in  eamaieu,  the 
Putti , and  the  Ignudi 270 


Contents. 


VII 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  SECOND  STANZA  (1511-1512). 

PAGE 

I.  The  vespers  of  Orvieto  (Sept.  7,  1506). — Programme  of  the 
second  Stanza  (Sept.,  1511).— The  leading  thought  of  the 
reign. — II.  The  four  biblical  subjects  of  the  ceiling. — Their 
Michelangelesque  aspect  and  decorative  character. — III. 

La  Messa  di  Bolsena. — The  figure  of  Julius  II. — The 
sacerdos  teutonicus  of  the  year  1512. — IV.  La  Storia  di 
Eliodoro. — Extraordinary  impetuosity  of  the  scene. — The 
architecture  of  the  temple. — V.  Unity  of  the  second  Stanza. 

— Its  dramatic  style. — Its  colouring.— Collaboration  of 
pupils 318 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  EPILOGUE  OF  THE  VAULT  (15 1 2) 

I.  The  year  of  terror. — The  Congress  of  Mantua,  and  the  resto- 
ration of  the  Medici  to  Florence  (June-August,  1512). — 
Letters  of  Michelangelo  during  this  year. — II.  The  Ances- 
tors 0/  Christ. — The  Capricci. — Vigil  of  All  Saints  (1512). — 

III.  Bitter  feeling  of  Michelangelo. — The  Slave  of  the 
Louvre  (1513) 3H  ' 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  LAST  CARNIVAL  (FEB.,  1513). 


Death  of  Julius  II 360 

Index 367 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


NOTE. — The  photographs  reproduced  for  this  work  are  (with  two 
exceptions:  the  “Bound  Captive”  and  the  “Portrait  of  Raf- 
faello”) from  the  atelier  of  Messrs.  Aliuari,  Florence. 


Study  for  Portrait  of  Julius  II. 

(. Raffaello ) .....  Frontispiece 

Corsini  Gallery,  Florence 

FACING 

PAGE 


Sixtus  IV.  Giving  Audience  to  Platina  (Afe- 

lozzo  da  Forli ) .......  4 

Vatican  Gallery 

Detail  of  Fresco  : Cardinal  della  Rovere  . 8 

Statue  of  Moses  ( Michelangelo ) ....  16 

Church  of  San  Pietro  in  Vincoli 

Bound  Captive  (. Michelangelo ) ....  22 

Museum  of  the  Louvre,  Paris 

A Victory  ( Michelangelo ) .....  26 

Bargello,  Florence 

Tapestry  from  Cartoon  by  Raffaello  . . 36 

Galleria  degli  Arrazzi,  Vatican 

Portrait  of  Michelangelo  ( artist  unknown ) . 48 

Gallery  of  the  Capitol 

Cappella  Sistina  ...  . . 58 

Vatican  Palace 

ix 


X 


Illustrations 


FACING 

PAGE 

Portrait  op  Cardinal  Bibbiena  ( Raffaello ) . 66 

Pitti  Gallery,  Florence 

Statue  of  Apollo 78 

Vatican  Museum 

La  Pietà  (. Michelangelo ) .....  82 

Basilica  of  San  Pietro 

Statue  of  David  (. Michelangelo ) ...  88,  94 

Accademia,  Florence 

Laocoon IOO 

Vatican  Museum 

Church  of  Santa  Maria  del  Popolo  . . 104 

Monument  of  Cardinal  Pallavicini  . . 108 

Church  of  Santa  Maria  del  Popolo 

Monument  of  Cardinal  Ascanio  Sforza  ( San- 
sovino) . . . . . . . .112 

Church  of  Santa  Maria  del  Popolo 

Detail  of  La  Disputa:  Bramante  {Raffaello)  . 118 

Stanza  della  Segnatura,  Vatican 

La  Tempietto 128 

Cortile  of  San  Pietro  in  Montorio 

Detail  of  II  Parnasso,  i ( Raffaello ) . .140 

Stanza  della  Segnatura 

Stanza  della  Segnatura 152 

Vatican  Palace 

Portrait  of  Raffaello  (by  himself  ) . . . 162 

Gallery  of  the  Louvre,  Paris 


Illustrations 


XI 


FACING 

PAGE 


Ceiling  of  the  Stanza  della  Segnatura  {Raf- 
faello) . . . . . . . .170 

Detail  of  Ceiling  : La  Theologia  . . .176 

La  Disputa  del  Sacramento  (. Raffaello ) . . 182 

Stanza  della  Segnatura 

Detail  of  La  Disputa,  2 188 

Detail  of  La  Disputa,  3 194 

La  Scuola  d’  Atene  (. Raffaello ) . . . .196 

Stanza  della  Segnatura 

Detail  of  La  Scuola,  i 198 

Detail  of  La  Scuola,  2 202 

Detail  of  La  Scuola,  3 204 

Il  Parnasso  (. Raffaello ) 206 

Stanza  della  Segnatura 

Detail  of  II  Parnasso,  2 210 

The  Cardinal  Virtues  {Raffaello)  . . .212 

Stanza  della  Segnatura 

Detail  of  the  Cardinal  Virtues:  LaTemper- 

antia 216 

Detail  of  La  Scuola:  Francesco  Maria  della 

Rovere,  4 226 

Gregory  IX.  Proclaiming  the  Decretals 

{Raffaello)  .......  234 

Stanza  della  Segnatura 

The  Erythraean  Sibyl  {Michelangelo)  . . 244 

Cappella  Sistina 


Illustrations 


xii 

FACING 

PAGE 

The;  Prophet  Ezekiel  (. Michelangelo ) . . . 256 

Cappella  Sistina 

The  Eibyan  Sibyl  (. Michelangelo ) ....  264 

Cappella  Sistina 

The  Prophet  Daniel  ( Michelangelo ) . . . 274 

Cappella  Sistina 

The  Delphic  Sibyl  (. Michelangelo ) . . . 284 

Cappella  Sistina 

Detail  of  Creation  of  Adam  ( Michelangelo ) . 294 

Cappella  Sistina 

The  Prophet  Isaiah  ( Michelangelo ) . . . 304 

Cappella  Sistina 

One  op  the  Ignudi  ( Michelangelo ) . . . 312 


Cappella  Sistina 

The  Mass  of  Bolsena  (. Raffaello ) . . . 326 

Stanza  di  Eliodoro,  Vatican  Palace 


The  Punishment  of  Heliodorus  . . . 332 

Stanza  di  Eliodoro 

Detail  of  Deliverance  of  S.  Peter  . . . 338 

Stanza  di  Eliodoro 

The  Ancestors  of  Christ  (. Michelangelo ) . . 348 

Cappella  Sistina 

Portrait  of  Julius  II.  {Raffaello)  . . . 358 

Pitti  Gallery,  Florence 

Tomb  of  Sixtus  IV 362 

Basilica  di  San  Pietro 


CHRONOLOGY 


1496=1500.  First  residence  of  Michelangelo  in  Rome. 

1498.  (May  23).  Death  of  Savonarola. 

1498=99.  Michelangelo’s  Pietà  for  Cardinal  Villiers  de  la 
Groslaie. 

1500.  Michelangelo’s  return  to  Florence. 

“ Bramante  at  Rome. 

1502.  The  Tempietto , Bramante’s  first  work  in  Rome. 

•SOS-  (November).  Julius  II.  elected  Pope. 

“ The  portico  of  the  Pace  by  Bramante. 

1505.  Michelangelo  enters  the  service  of  Julius  II. 

“ (March).  Plan  of  the  Sepoltura. 

“ (April-November).  Michelangelo  at  Carrara. 

“ “ Decision  to  rebuild  S.  Peter’s. 

“ Bramante  undertakes  San  Biagio,  the  Belvedere,  and  the 
rebuilding  of  S.  Peter’s. 

“ (December).  Michelangelo’s  return  from  Carrara. 

1506.  (January  14).  Discovery  of  the  Laocoon. 

“ (April  17).  Michelangelo’s  flight  to  Florence. 

“ (April  18).  Laying  of  corner-stone  of  the  new  S.  Peter’s. 

“ Andrea  Sansovino  employed  for  the  monument  of  Cardinal 
Ascanio  Sforza. 

“ (August  26).  Julius  II.  marches  against  the  Baglioni  and 
Bentivogli. 

“ (September  7).  The  vespers  of  Orvieto. 

“ (September  16).  Occupation  of  Perugia. 

“ (November  10).  Taking  of  Bologna. 

xiii 


xiv  Chronology 

1506.  (end  of  November) . Michelangelo  goes  to  Bologna  to  ask 

pardon  from  the  Pope. 

“ Begins  statue  of  the  Pope  for  fajade  of  San  Petronio. 

1507.  (March  28).  Julius  II. ’s  triumphal  return  to  Rome. 

“ Andrea  Sansovino  employed  for  the  monument  of  Cardinal 
Basso  della  Rovere. 

“ (November  26).  The  Pope  occupies  the  Upper  Rooms  of 
the  Vatican. 

1508.  Perugino,  Sodoma,  Peruzzi,  and  others  are  engaged  for  the 

decoration  of  the  Upper  Rooms. 

“ (February  21).  Inauguration  of  the  statue  at  Bologna. 

“ (end  of  March).  Michelangelo’s  return  to  Rome. 

“ (May  8).  He  begins  painting  in  the  Sistina. 

*509'  (January?)  Arrival  of  Raffaello  in  Rome. 

“ (March).  Julius  II.  dismisses  the  artists  employed  in  the 
Upper  Rooms  and  commits  the  decoration  to  Raffaello. 
“ (March  23).  The  Pope  joins  the  League  of  Cambrai 
against  Venice. 

“ (April  14).  Battle  of  Agnadello,  and  humiliation  of  Venice. 

“ The  Mirabilia  of  Canon  Albertini  (finished  June  5,  1509, 

and  printed  in  1510). 

1510.  (February  24).  Absolution  of  Venice  and  rupture  with 

France. 

“ (August  7).  Julius  II.  goes  to  his  headquarters  at  Bologna. 
“ (October).  Michelangelo  at  the  Pope’s  headquarters.  (He 
goes  thither  a second  time  near  the  close  of  the  year). 

1511.  (January  21).  Taking  of  Mirandola. 

“ (May  21).  Revolt  of  Bologna,  and  defeat  of  the  pontifical 
army. 

“ (May  24).  Assassination  of  Cardinal  Alidosi  by  the  Duke 
of  Urbino. 

“ (May).  Announcement  of  a schismatic  council  at  Pisa. 

“ (June  27).  Julius  II.’s  return  to  Rome. 

“ (July  18).  The  bull  Sacrosanct cs  convokes  a council  at 
the  Lateran  for  April  9,  1512. 


Chronology  xv 

1511.  (July).  Julius  II.  negotiates  for  the  forming  of  the  Holv 

League,  and  poses  for  his  portrait  in  the  fresco  of  the 
Decretals. 

“ (August,  week  of  the  Assumption).  Opening  of  the 
Camera  della  Segnatura,  and  partial  unveiling  of  the 
Sistine  vault. 

“ (August  17).  Serious  illness  of  the  Pope. 

“ (August  27).  Attempt  at  a Republic  made  by  Roman 
nobles. 

“ (September).  Raffaello  begins  the  decoration  of  the  Sec- 
ond Stanza,  and  Michelangelo  resumes  his  work  in  the 
Sistina. 

“ (September  23).  Florence  laid  under  interdict. 

“ (Octobers).  Proclamation  of  the  Holy  League. 

1512.  (January  to  July?)  The  Mass  of  Bolsena,  fresco  of  the 

Second  Stanza. 

“ (April  1 1).  Battle  of  Ravenna. 

“ (April  14).  Remonstrance  of  the  Sacred  College  in  favour 
of  Peace. 

“ (May  to).  First  session  of  the  Lateran  Council. 

“ (May  17).  Second  session,  and  adjournment  to  November. 

“ (May-June).  Arrival  of  the  Swiss,  and  expulsion  from 
Italy  of  the  French. 

“ (July  4-9).  Alfonso  of  Ferrara  in  Rome. 

“ ( July-December  ?)  Punishment  of  Heliodorus,  fresco  of 

the  second  Stanza. 

“ (August).  Congress  of  Mantua  and  restoration  of  the 
Italian  princes 

“ (August  29).  Sack  of  Prato,  and  return  of  the  Medici  to 
Florence. 

“ (August-October).  Completion  of  Michelangelo’s  frescos 
on  the  Sistine  ceiling. 

“ (November  2).  Feast  of  All  Saints,  and  definitive  opening 
of  the  Sistine  Chapel. 

“ (November  4).  The  bishop  of  Gurk  in  Rome. 

“ (December  3).  Third  session  of  the  Lateran  Council; 
the  Te  Deum. 

1513.  (February  3).  Carnival  and  grand  procession  in  Rome. 

“ (February  20).  Death  of  Julius  II. 


ROME  AND  THE  RENAISSANCE 


CHAPTER  I 

MELOZZO’S  FRESCO 

This  fresco  by  Melozzo  da  Porli — Sixtus  IV.,  Founder 
of  the  Vatican  Library 1 — is  a great  page  of  history,  as 
well  as  a great  page  of  painting.  It  helps  us  marvellous^ 
to  understand  those  Popes  of  the  Renaissance,  with  all 
their  qualities  and  their  faults,  their  political  rather  than 
religious  turn  of  mind,  their  humanist  predilections,  their 
passion  for  building  and  beautifying  the  city  of  Rome, 
their  nepotism. 

In  the  haughty  old  man  seated  there,  nothing  recalls 
the  Francesco  della  Rovere  of  earlier  days,  the  humble 
monk  of  the  Order  of  the  Minor  Brethren,  born  of  obscure 
parentage  in  Ligurian  Savona.  He  sits  like  a king,  in  a 
splendid  hall,  surrounded  by  high  dignitaries  of  Church 
and  State,  all  very  young,— all,  furthermore,  his  nearest 
kinsmen.  His  profile  is  singularly  clear-cut,  and  singu- 
larly hard,  also — as  is  not  unsuited  to  the  all  too  clearly 

1 Picture  gallery  of  the  Vatican,  Hall  III.  Melozzo’s  fresco  was 
transferred  to  canvas  early  in  the  last  century.  Up  to  that  time  it 
had  remained  in  its  original  place  in  the  Latin  Hall  of  Sixtus  IV.’s 
Vatican  Library  (now  the  Floreria).  See  Paul  Fabre,  La  Vaticana 
de  Sixte  IV  (. Melanges  de  l' E cole  frangaise  à Rome,  voi.  xv.). 


2 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


proven  accomplice  of  the  Pazzi.  It  is  1475, 1 and  but  three 
years  later  came  that  fatal  conspiracy  which  was  to  re- 
main the  ineffaceable  blot  upon  his  pontificate.  I am  well 
aware  that  indulgent  historians  plead  extenuating  cir- 
cumstances here:  in  reply  to  his  nephew,  Girolamo  Ri- 
ario,  who  had  said  that  every  endeavour  would  be  made 
to  prevent  bloodshed,  but  that  in  enterprises  of  this  kind 
there  could  be  no  certainty  about  this,  the  Pope  is  said  to 
have  exclaimed:  “ Tice  ^ma  bestia!  I tell  you  I will  have 
nobody  killed  in  Florence,  I only  will  have  a change  of 
government.”  2 I confess  this  defence  produces  but  little 
effect  on  me.  ‘‘We  cannot  govern  a state  with  pater- 
nosters,” old  Cosimo,  the  Father  of  his  Country,  loved  to 
say,  as  the  excuse  of  certain  acts  of  violence  in  his  rule 
on  the  banks  of  the  Arno:  Sixtus  IV.  must  have  known 
that  it  was  not  with  paternosters  that  a mutazione  dello 
stato  could  be  brought  about  in  Florence. 

With  the  aristocratic,  shrewd,  cold  profile  of  the  old 
Rovere  is  ingeniously  contrasted  in  Melozzo’s  picture 
the  plebeian,  square,  wrinkled,  sensual,  and  rather  sly 
face  of  Platina  who  receives,  kneeling,  his  investiture  as 
Librarian,  and  represents  here  in  masterly  fashion  that 
humanist  tribe  of  the  Quattrocento  which  had  become  so 
important  and  so  importunate.  They  filled  the  courts, 
the  academies  and  the  chanceries  of  the  peninsula;  they 
were  the  official  poets  and  publicists  of  governments,  the 

1 Date  of  the  foundation  of  the  Library.  The  fresco  was  painted 
in  1477. 

2 Deposition  of  Montesecco.  Capponi,  Storia  di  Firenze,  voi. 
ii-,  p.  552. 


Melozzo's  Fresco 


3 


accredited  “orators”  of  all  illustrious  embassies;  and 
from  among  them  the  Roman  Curia  also  drew  the  Cice- 
ronian pens  judged  indispensable  for  the  proper  prepara- 
tion of  briefs  and  bulls.  In  1464,  the  Vatican  had  no  less 
than  seventy  of  these  abbreviatores,  all  richly  paid;  and 
when  Paul  II.  (Barbo)  felt  that  he  must  reduce  their 
number  there  was  a general  outcry.  Making  himself  the 
spokesman  of  his  dispossessed  colleagues,  Bartolommeo 
Platina  addressed  an  insolent  letter  to  the  pontiff,  threat- 
ening him  with  a Council  if  he  did  not  recall  the  decree. 
Nothing  could  equal  the  pride  and  audacity  of  these 
rhetoricians  and  phrase-makers  who  believed  themselves 
to  be  the  great  justiciaries  of  history,  the  sole  and  sov- 
ereign dispensers  of  fame  and  immortality.  “ It  was 
Homer  who  made  Achilles  known  to  the  world  ; it  was 
the  authors  of  the  Gospels  who  made  known  the  Christ,” 
the  excellent  Bartolommeo  wrote,  in  1468,  to  the  Pope; 
he  wrote  from  a dungeon  of  Sant’  Angelo,  charged  with  a 
capital  crime  and  undergoing  the  most  humiliating  and 
degrading  of  punishments.  It  would  be  difficult  to  deny 
that  the  leaders  of  the  Academy,  Pomponius  Leto,  Platina, 
Buonaccorsi  and  their  like,  were  Epicureans  and  free- 
thinkers in  the  full  force  of  the  term,  worshipping  only 
antiquity  and  the  Genius  of  Rome,  forming  among  them- 
selves, as  has  so  well  been  said,  a sort  of  Free-Masonry, 
profoundly  hostile  to  the  Christian  dogma  and,  in  fact, 
to  every  form  of  revealed  religion. 

In  a moment  of  frankness,  or  of  prostration,  Platina 
himself  avowed  to  Pomponius  that,  as  Head  of  the 
Church,  Paul  II.  could  not  but  be  displeased  at  their 


4 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


underhand  proceedings.  Nevertheless,  the  successor  of 
Paul  II.  made  haste  to  conciliate  the  good  will  of  this 
world  of  lettered  men,  as  formidable  then  as  the  world  of 
journalists  is  now.  Sixtus  IV.  fixed  the  number  of  ab- 
breviatores  at  seventy-two,  he  reopened  the  Academy, 
reinstalled  in  his  chair  the  famous  Pomponius,  and  con- 
ferred on  Platina  the  double  duty  of  historiographer  of  the 
Popes  and  superintendent  of  the  Vaticana.  The  entente 
cordiale  between  the  Papacy  and  Humanism,  for  a 
moment  compromised  by  Barbo,  “ the  Barbarian,”  was 
renewedly  affirmed  by  the  former  general  of  the  Fran- 
ciscans, and  it  was  destined  to  last  till  the  Council  of 
Trent. 

With  the  index  finger  of  his  right  hand,  Platina  calls 
the  spectator’s  attention  to  an  inscription  placed  at  the 
bottom  of  the  frame;  they  are  distichs  of  his  own  com- 
position which,  in  elegant  Latin,  celebrate  the  other 
Roman  creations  of  the  Rovere  : churches,  hospitals, 
aqueducts,  and  bridges;  broad  streets,  extensive  squares, 
convenient  harbours,  and  walls.1  None  of  the  Popes  pre- 
ceding or  following  Sixtus  IV.  did  as  much  as  he  for  the 
restoration,  the  sanitation,  and  the  enlargement  of  the 
Eternal  City;  and  it  was  with  good  reason  that  Albertini 
dates  from  this  reign  the  Nova  Urbs  of  his  Mirabilia.  To 
these  great  building  operations,  of  a kind  that  the  Seven 

1 Tempt  a,  domum  expositis,  vicos,  fora,  m cenici,  pontes, 
Virgineam  Trivii  quod  repararis  aquam, 

Prisca  licet  nautis  statuas  dare  commoda  portus 
Et  Vaticanum  cingere , Sixte,  jugum. 

Plus  tamen  Urbs  debet  : nam,  quce  squalore  latebat 
Cernitur  in  celebri  Bibliotheca  loco. 


Sixtus  IV.  Giving  Audience  to  Platina 
(Melozzo  da  Forli) 


iv  ■■  * Renaissance 

tholes*,  the  successor  of 
'.rood  will  of  this 

.tvred  taet  then  as  the  wor 

- is  -w.  d the  number  of  ah 

■ ird  the  Academ, 

»j s ì ! lotiius,  and  con- 

. - t ihe  double  v’iu  • <n  oriographer  of  the 

vintendent  of  tie-  <■  ■ ma.  The  entente 
:n  the  Papacy  an  ’ rmanism,  for  a 
: omised  by  Barbo,  “ tin  .rbarian,”  was 
ied  by  the  former  general  of  the  Fran- 
s destined  to  last  till  the  Council  of 

n ex  finger  of  his  right  hand,  Platina  cab-* 
ttention  to  an  inscription  placed  at  the 
c rame:  they  are  distichs  of  his  own  com 
hkSh,  in  elegant  I.atin,  celebrate  the  other 
: cations  of  the  Ro  ere  ; churches,  hospitals, 
aqueducts,  ai . bridges  broa  streets,  extensive  squares. 

None  of  the  Popes  pr 

' sag  or  following  S-  - ;.c*  i V dH  as  much  as  he  for  th« 

. i aas  the  enlargement  of  the 

id  it  was  with  good  reason  that  Ali 
-,  reign  the  Nova  Urbs  of  his  Mirabilia.  To 
operations,  of  a kind  that  the  Seven 

/.•I»»»  es  - • . . ..  fora,  mcenia,  pontes, 

. Trivii  qu . ' r u is  aquatn , 

t nautis  statua*  dry  commoda  porlits 
i uticanum  cinqen  . Sixte,  jugum. 

i f'rbs  debet:  nani,  quee  squalore  latebat 
Cerni  tur  in  tfebri  / ’ ■ • iotheca  loco. 

awitajT  ot  hoxhkiuA  ovriviO  .VI  aurxig 
(xjjìoT  a a oxscuaM) 


■zjM:. 


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CéKNIVVX  »>»:Cfti3W  UStiOTHCCA '.Wf.O* 

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Melozzo’s  Fresco 


5 


Hills  had  not  seen  since  the  time  of  the  Caesars,  were 
added  the  artistic  splendours  of  the  Quattrocento:  it  is 
enough  to  name  the  magnificent  cycle  of  frescos  executed 
in  the  palace  chapel  by  Ghirlandajo,  Signorelli,  Botticelli, 
Rosselli,  Perugino,  and  Pinturicchio.  Only  one  complete 
work  of  Melozzo  da  Forli,  unfortunately,  remains  in 
Rome,  this  picture  of  the  Vaticana , of  which  we  have 
been  speaking;  but  it  is  very  much  to  the  honour  of 
Sixtus  IV.  that  he  was  able  to  distinguish  above  the 
rest  this  strong  genius,  perhaps  the  most  original  and 
innovating  painter  of  the  epoch.1  We  must  do  him 
also  the  justice  to  remember  that  the  Vaticana  was  the 
first  public  Library,  the  Capitoline  collection  of  bronzes 
the  first  public  Museum  that  Italy  had  known,  and  that, 
while  setting  the  example  of  a deplorable  nepotism,  the 
old  Franciscan  monk  did  not  fail  to  communicate  his 
passion  for  embellishing  Rome  to  more  than  one  of  these 
Rovere  and  Riarii,  who  had  flocked  with  all  haste  to 
the  city  that  they  might  bask  in  the  sunshine  of  their 
kinsman,  the  Ligurian  Pope. 

In  this  fresco  of  Melozzo,  which  contains  in  all  but  six 
figures,  there  are  four  of  these  “nephews”;  and  that 
alone  is  a sign  of  the  times.2 

The  showy  youth  with  slender  figure  and  aquiline  nose 

1 The  tribune  of  the  church  of  the  Santi  Apostoli  in  Rome,  with 
Melozzo’s  paintings,  was  destroyed  in  1711  ; there  remain  to  us  of 
them  only  a few  admirable  fragments,  now  in  the  sacristy  of  S. 
Peter’s  and  above  the  stairway  of  the  Ouirinal  Palace.  Melozzo’s 
chapel  at  Loretto  is  still  almost  entire.  This  is  most  unjustly 
attributed  by  Cavalcasene  to  Palmezzauo. 

2 Schmarzow,  Melozzo,  pp.  42  et  seq. 


6 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


who  stands  behind  Platina,  wrapped  in  a rich  cloak  and 
wearing  a heavy  gold  chain  around  his  neck,  is  Girolamo 
Riario,  the  all-powerful  favourite  of  the  Pope  and  the  evil 
genius  of  his  reign.  A petty  tradesman  at  first  or  a cus- 
tom-house clerk  in  his  native  city  of  Savona,  then  Count 
of  Imola  and  Forli,  and  husband  of  the  famous  Caterina 
Sforza,  Girolamo  was  the  soul  of  the  Pazzi  conspiracy  and 
of  many  other  violent  and  unfortunate  enterprises  of 
Sixtus  IV.  The  sworn  enemy  of  the  Medici  during  his 
whole  life,  he  was  destined  to  perish,  ten  years  later,  by 
the  hands  of  his  Forli vian  subjects,  and  to  be  avenged  by 
his  widow  in  a frightful  carnage.  But  vain  are  our  strifes 
here  below,  our  loves  as  well  as  our  hatreds:  this  aveng- 
ing virago  nevertheless  married,  for  fourth  or  fifth  hus- 
band, one  of  the  most  obscure  of  the  Medici,  and  became 
the  mother  of  Giovanni  delle  Bande  Nere,  the  grand- 
mother of  Cosmo  I.,  lo  stampo 1 of  the  Grand  Dukes  of 
Tuscany  ! 

A commonplace,  thick-set  figure,  but  with  a very  intel- 
ligent face,  Giovanni  della  Rovere  wears  also  rich  dress, 
and  a gold  chain  around  his  neck.  He  is  “ prefect  of 
Rome,”  Lord  of  Sinigaglia,  and  will  later  be  the  ancestor 
of  sovereigns.  Thanks  to  the  celebrity  which  came  to 
him  through  his  uncle,  he  was  soon  after  to  marry  the 
heiress  of  the  Montefeltri,  and  his  son,  Francesco  Maria, 
will  presently  reign  over  the  duchy  of  Urbino. 

The  two  other  nepoti  belong  to  the  Church.  Raffaello 

1 A me  rimane  lo  stampo  per  farne  altri  ! is  the  traditional 
reply  of  Caterina  Sforza  when  the  Forlivians  threatened,  in  1488, 
to  put  to  death  her  children  if  she  did  not  surrender  the  castle. 


Melozzo’s  Fresco 


7 


Riario,  at  the  right  of  Sixtus  IV.,  is  a boy  scarcely  sixteen, 
and  wears  merely  the  robe  of  the  apostolic  prothonotary; 
in  two  years  he  will  wear  the  purple  and  will  be  known 
as  the  Cardinal  di  San  Giorgio,  will  be  the  papal  legate  in 
Florence,  and  on  Sunday,  April  27,  1478,  will  be  present 
in  the  Cathedral  at  “the  bloody  mass”  of  the  Pazzi. 
Not  at  all  aware  of  the  plot,  he  will,  however,  be  kept  a 
prisoner  for  nearly  two  months  by  Lorenzo  the  Magnifi- 
cent, will  expect  from  moment  to  moment  to  be  hung  like 
his  colleague,  Archbishop  Salviati,  and  from  these  days 
of  anguish  his  face  will  contract  a livid  pallor  lasting 
through  life.  It  is  he  to  whom  will  be  sold  in  1496,  as  an 
antique  marble,  a statue  of  Cupid,  the  work  of  the  young 
Michelangelo,  and  this  will  bring  the  sculptor  to  Rome 
for  the  first  time;  we  have  still  Buonarroti’s  letter,  in 
which  he  speaks  of  the  molte  belle  cose  shown  him  by  his 
Eminence,  in  the  cardinal’s  Casa  Nuova' 

By  a singular  fatality  the  end  of  the  career  of  this 
Prince  of  the  Church  will  be  marked  by  the  same  sinister 
complication  as  was  its  beginning.  The  29th  of  May, 
1517,  the  people  of  Rome  were  to  learn  with  amazement 
of  the  arrest  of  Cardinal  di  San  Giorgio,  so  well  known  for 
the  last  forty  years  for  his  wealth,  his  ostentation,  his 
cavalcades  through  the  streets  at  the  head  of  three  hun- 
dred horsemen,  his  scenic  representations,  his  collections 
of  anticaglie , and  his  magnificent  palace  of  San  Lorenzo  in 
Damaso.  The  accusation  against  this  dean  of  the  Sacred 
College  was  of  having  plotted,  with  the  young  Cardinal 
Alfonso  Petrucci,  the  assassination  of  the  Pope,  Leo  X., 
1 Letter  of  Michelangelo,  ed.  Milanesi,  p.  375. 


8 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


by  poison  and  poignard.  Petrucci  was  strangled  in 
prison;  Raffaello  Riario  was  set  free  from  the  castle  of 
Sant’  Angelo  only  after  having  paid  an  enormous  ransom 
in  gold  and  given  up  to  the  treasury  the  ownership  of  his 
palace,  the  finest  in  Rome.1  He  survived  this  catastrophe 
but  a short  time,  dying  in  Naples  (1521),  deserted  by 
every  one. 

The  last  of  the  group  to  be  named  is  Giuliano  della 
Rovere,  now  thirty-one  years  of  age,  originally,  like  his 
uncle,  a Franciscan  monk,  and  since  1471  Cardinal  of 
San  Pietro  in  Vincoli.  It  is  upon  this  figure  that  Melozzo 
has  concentrated  all  the  vigour  of  his  brush,  with  a pre- 
sentiment, it  would  seem,  of  the  great  place  that  history 
was  to  give  to  his  subject.  What  energy  in  the  face, 
already  so  deeply  marked  by  ambition!  What  fire  in  the 
glance!  And,  withal,  a certain  veiled  sadness,  and  that 
unsatisfied  look  which  comes  to  the  elect  of  destiny  when 
their  star  too  long  delays  its  coming. 

Standing,  and  with  face  turned  towards  the  founder  of 
the  Vaticana , the  Cardinal  holds  in  his  hands  a roll, 
doubtless  the  address  which  he  is  about  to  delivér  to  the 
Pope,2  congratulating  him  upon  the  completion  of  a work 
which  we  may  boldly  affirm  was  common  to  them  both. 
Kept  out  of  politics  by  the  superior  influence,  as  jealous 

1 The  palace  received  from  that  time  the  distinction  of  being  the 
official  residence  of  the  Vice-Chancellor  of  the  Church,  and  hence 
is  called  the  Cancellaria.  From  this  confiscation  date  the  Medici 
arms,  to  be  seen  in  many  parts  of  the  palace. 

2 The  other  roll,  in  the  hand  of  Raffaello  Riario,  may  have  been 
supposed  to  contain  the  reply  which  was  to  be  delivered  by  Sixtus 
IV. 


Cardinal  of  San  Pietro  in  Vincoli 
(Melozzo  da  Forli) 


; ‘ ■ ne  and  the  Renaissa ; 


• e ts  rd.  Petrucci  was  s 

»:  in 

a rio  was  set  free  from  : 

:r  having  paid  an  emoni 

u in  Rome.1  He  survived  ’ 

v u .iofihe 

trie,  dying  in  Naples  (152  •. 

- group  to  be  named  i d 

uno  della 

. ■ Ay-one  years  of  age,  or.: 

, like  his 

• 1 iscau  monk,  and  since 

linai  of 

vincoli.  It  is  upon  this  figure 

■ i elozzo 

•.ted  all  the  vigour  of  his  ' - ' a pre- 

it  would  seem,  of  the  great  ]>  . :.•  in<*tory 

ive  to  his  subject.  What  enei  •:  ’ the  lace, 

> deeply  marked  by  ambition!  What  lire  in  the 
And,  withal,  a certain  veiled  sad  tie**  *>»  that 
look  which  comes  to  the  elect  of  destiny  when 
too  long  delays  its  coming. 

. y.  and  with  face  turned  toward*  the  fcmuder  *i 
"ina,  the  Cardinal  holds  in  hi*  -,  \ • •.  4 roll, 

the  address  which  he  is  about  to  den  / t the 
• ’ atu'ating  him  upon  the  completion  <ii  a work 
may  boldly  affirm  was  common  to  them  loth. 

, oli  ties  by  the  superior  influence  dous 

• ' . v ■ ■ ceived  from  that  time  the  distinct  «os  T bein*  ikr 
• £•  of  the  Vice-Chancellor  of  the  Chore!»,  and  brnea 
.ancellaria.  From  this  confiscation  dL*i.t  the  Medici 
. a iu  many  parts  of  the  palace. 

: ’■oil,  in  the  hand  of  Raffaello  Rian  >,  j ■ i . ntu 
■on tain  the  reply  which  was  to  he  ch-'ivrn  ' 's'stus 

xjOD/tiV  m OHTaihl  ka8  to  javacixaO 
(ijto'ì  aq  oxxojaH) 


Melozzo’s  Fresco 


9 


as  it  was  harmful,  of  the  Count  of  Imola,  Giuliano  della 
Rovere  was,  in  general,  obliged  to  limit  himself  to  being 
his  uncle’s  adviser  and  inspirer  in  respect  to  all  the  great 
artistic  and  monumental  creations  of  the  reign.  Under 
Innocent  VIII.  his  influence  was  to  be  much  more  weighty 
— the  ambassadors  of  the  Powers  even  complaining,  under 
Cibo,  that  they  had  “ to  deal  with  two  Popes”;  and  in 
1492  he  was  to  be  the  candidate  of  France  for  the  triple 
crown.  It  was,  however,  Alexander  VI.  who  gained  the 
election  in  that  ill-omened  Conclave,  by  means  which  are 
well  known;  and  then  began,  between  the  nephew  of 
Sixtus  IV.  and  the  father  of  Cesare  Borgia,  a ten-years’ 
strife,  passionate  and  full  of  exciting  incidents.  The 
Cardinal  of  San  Pietro  in  Vincoli  took  refuge  in  France 
and  urged  Charles  VIII.  to  the  invasion  of  ItaljT.  With 
the  Most  Christian  King,  he  re-entered  Rome,  and  be- 
lieved himself  at  the  goal  of  his  wishes  upon  the  death  of 
Alexander.  Disappointed  in  this  hope,  he  again  went 
into  exile,  and  wasted  long  years  in  efforts  more  and 
more  disappointing.  At  last  his  hour  came:  Alexander 
VI.  and  Pius  III.  being  dead,  the  nephew  of  Sixtus 
IV.  was  elected  Pope,  in  the  Conclave  of  November  1, 
1503.  He  was  then  fifty-nine  years  of  age;  and  the  name 
that  he  took  was  Julius  II. 


CHAPTER  II 


this  story  of  a tomb 

I know  of  few  books  that  are  so  misleading  as  the  Le- 
gationes  of  Maechiavelli  in  which  reference  is  made  to 
Julius  II.  The  Florentine  Secretary  of  State,  being  his 
government’s  envoy  to  the  Conclave  of  1503,  was  a witness 
of  the  election  and  of  the  first  acts  of  the  new  pontiff;  but 
he  shows  himself  in  his  despatches  to  have  been,  at  the 
time,  altogether  preoccupied  with  his  admired  Cesare 
Borgia.  The  Secretary  had  seen  this  young  man  the  pre- 
ceding year  in  Romagna,  at  the  summit  of  his  factitious 
prosperity  and  abominable  crimes,  and  had  conceived  for 
him  that  extraordinary  enthusiasm  which  is  a matter  of 
history.  Maechiavelli  now  finds  him  a prisoner  in  the 
Vatican,  powerless,  humiliated,  and  contemptible  to  the 
last  degree,  and  despises  him  accordingly;  but,  for  all 
that,  he  still  feels  the  early  fascination  and  will  feel  it 
while  he  lives.  As  for  this  Giuliano  della  Rovere,  who 
has  just  been  raised  to  Saint  Peter’s  throne  (November 
26,  1503), — this  Julius  II.,  soon  to  be  called  throughout 
Italy  il  pontefice  terribile ,' — the  wily  diplomat  from  the 

1 By  the  word  terribile  the  Italians  of  the  Cinquecento  expressed 
the  idea  of  a fiery  enthusiasm  of  character,  combined  with  a cer- 
tain loftiness  of  ideas.  They  spoke  of  the  terribilità  in  the  art  of 
Michelangelo.  “ È un  uomo  terribile ,”  Leo  X.  said  of  Buonar- 
roti, speaking  to  Sebastiano  del  Piombo. 

io 


The  Story  of  a Tomb 


1 1 

banks  of  the  Arno  makes  no  great  account  of  him.  Mac- 
chiavelli  has  not  the  slightest  interest  in  the  new  Pope, 
not  even  that  of  curiosity.  He  does  not  at  all  suspect 
that  he  is  in  the  presence  of  an  extraordinary  man — an 
uomo  singolare , to  use  a favourite  expression  of  the  times. 
At  most,  the  envoy  will  but  give  him  the  credit  and 
honour  of  some  sagacious  political  assassination  — for  in- 
stance, the  murder  of  the  due  de  Valentiuois.  A rumour 
to  this  effect  is,  in  fact,  current  in  Rome,  and  the  Secre- 
tar y forthwith  mentions  it,  in  an  airy  way:  “ The  Pope  is 
beginning  to  pay  his  debts,  and  to  pay  them  in  full.”  But 
the  news,  unfortunately,  does  not  receive  confirmation. 

Three  years  later,  Macchiavelli,  being  again  an  envoy 
to  the  Roman  Court,  on  his  way  thither  meets  the  Pope 
(at  Nepi),  who  is  marching  upon  Perugia  and  Bologna, 
with  intent  to  wrest  these  cities  from  the  Bentivogli  and 
the  Baglioni.  Preceded  by  the  Host  and  attended  by  two- 
and-twenty  cardinals,  this  Successor  of  the  Apostles  com- 
mands his  troops  in  person;  and  that,  too,  at  a time  when 
kings  and  emperors — a Maximilian  of  Austria,  a Rouis  of 
France,  a Ferdinand  of  Spain  — remain  afar  from  the 
tumult  of  battles  and  allow  their  generals  to  act  for  them. 
This  piquant  spectacle,  however,  suggests  to  the  Tus- 
can envoy  no  original  reflections,  nor  any  apprehension 
whatever.  Even  his  strong  and  tenacious  hatred  of 
the  Church  fails  to  give  him  warning  that  the  temporal 
power  of  the  Popes  is  about  to  be  made  secure  for  cent- 
uries! Certainly  this  statesman,  this  observer  reputed 
infallible,  manifests  but  little  sagacity  or  foresight  in  the 
present  instance.  The  man  who  does  foresee — who  sees, 


i2  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 

rather  — is  quite  another  Florentine,  no  statesman,  but  a 
man  of  genius;  himself,  like  the  Pope,  terribile.  In  the 
famous  design  for  the  monument  of  Julius  II.,  made  by- 
Michelangelo  at  the  pontiff’s  command  and  in  his  honour 
early  in  the  reign  (March,  1505),  the  Pope  already  appears, 
as  he  is  destined  to  stand  in  history,  a fierce  conqueror  of 
provinces  and  a generous  patron  of  art  — a true  Pontifex 
Maximus  of  the  Renaissance.  But  the  design  is  silent — 
and  with  good  reason — as  to  the  Christian,  the  priest,  the 
shepherd  of  souls  ! 

The  monument  ordered  is  — strange  to  say  — a tomb,  a 
magnificent  dwelling  of  the  dead,  where  shall  finally  re- 
pose this  pontiff,  but  yesterday  elected;  and  he  a Fran- 
ciscan monk!  Bramante  and  his  friends  consider  the 
undertaking  to  be  of  evil  omen;  but  Julius  II.  puts  into 
it  all  the  fire  of  his  will,  and  Michelangelo  all  the  ard- 
our of  his  genius.  A thought  of  Christian  humility — the 
thought:  memento  mori , memento  quia  pulvis  es — is,  be  it 
observed,  as  far  from  the  mind  of  the  crowned  monk  as 
from  that  of  the  immortal  artist;  the  only  motive  of 
action,  for  the  one  as  for  the  other,  is  the  universal  tend- 
ency of  the  period,  the  primum  mobile  of  Plumanism — that 
cult  of  personality,  that  appeal  to  posterity,  which  Dante 
has  already  called  lo  gran  disio  dell'  eccellenza.  Here,  it 
is  a Pharaoh’s  pride,  served  to  its  utmost  desire  by  a 
Titan’s  daring;  and  that  the  work  remained  a fragment 
may  perhaps  suggest  a certain  Scriptural  sentence  about 
the  mighty  of  the  earth  “who  build  unto  themselves 
ruins  . . Mark  well,  however:  the  association  of 

these  two  fiery  souls,  these  two  terribili , Rovere  and 


13 


The  Story  of  a Tomb 

Buonarroti,  is  nevertheless  one  of  the  greatest  dates 
in  the  history  of  the  ideal;  it  sums  up  the  splendour 
and  the  disaster  of  the  Renaissance  arrived  at  its 
apogee. 

It  is  not  forbidden  us  to  reconstruct  in  imagination  — 
vaguely,  it  is  true,  and  very  insufficiently — the  work,  as 
the  sculptor  beheld  it,  in  that  first  moment  of  inspiration 
and  enthusiasm.  We  have  the  accounts  — agreeing  in 
general,  notwithstanding  some  divergences  — of  Condivi 
and  Vasari,  the  former  of  whom  wrote  under  the  in- 
struction, and  almost  at  the  dictation,  of  Michelangelo; 
we  have  also  a small  pen-and-ink  drawing,  carefully 
treasured  in  the  Uffizi,  in  which  part  of  the  monument 
(the  lower  part)  is  represented,  if  not  by  Buonarroti’s 
own  hand,  at  least  in  accordance  with  authentic  and  con- 
temporary documents.1  We  may,  therefore,  represent 
to  ourselves  an  isolated  construction,  accessible  on  all 
sides,  measuring  twenty-four  feet  in  width,  thirty-six  in 
depth,  and  over  thirty-six  feet  in  height.  The  base, 
thirteen  feet  high,  and  separated  from  the  upper  part  by 
a massive  and  prominent  entablature,  presents  on  all  four 
sides  a continuous  succession  of  immense  niches  flanked 
by  enormous  projecting  pilasters:  niches  and  pilasters 
proclaiming  the  mundane  glory  of  Julius  II. — his  glory  as 

1 The  drawing  in  the  collection  of  Herr  von  Beckerath,  at  Berlin, 
refers  to  a later  period,  and  a design  considerably  reduced  and 
attached  to  the  wall.  It  is,  however,  of  very  great  interest  because 
it  gives  the  upper  part  of  the  mausoleum,  and  explains  the 
sculptor’s  expression,  that  Julius  II.  was  to  be  represented  “ in 
sospeso  ” (suspended)  : two  angels  hold  him  by  the  arms,  and  are 
lowering  him  into  the  tomb. 


14 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


conqueror,  and  as  patron  of  the  arts.  In  each  of  the 
niches  a winged  Victory  treads  under  foot  a defeated  and 
disarmed  province;  at  each  of  the  pilasters,  an  enchained 
athlete  writhes,  convulsed,  shuddering,  flinging  to  heaven 
a reproachful  glance,  or  sinks  exhausted  and  expiring. 
The  two  famous  statues  in  the  Louvre,  so  improperly 
called  “The  Slaves,’’  were  of  this  number.  These  en- 
chained athletes  personify  the  liberal  arts,  themselves 
become  ‘ ‘ the  prisoners  of  death  ’ ’ in  the  death  of  the 
Rovere;  their  great  benefactor  gone,  they  despair  and 
perish  ! 

The  upper  part  of  the  monument,  which  has  a height 
of  nine  feet,  lifts  us  towards  a higher  world,  towards  re- 
gions ideal  and  serene.  In  contrast  with  the  Victories 
and  athletes  of  the  base,  all  represented  standing  and  in 
attitudes  heroic  or  pathetic,  the  eight  principal  statues 
above  are  either  seated  or  stand  in  repose  and  solemn 
tranquillity.  We  distinguish  among  them  Moses,  S. 
Paul,  Active  Life,  Contemplative  Life,  perhaps,  also. 
Prudence  and  some  other  allegorical  Virtue.  In  the  midst 
rises  the  great  sarcophagus,  destined  to  receive  the  mor- 
tal remains  of  the  Pope.  At  the  very  summit  of  the 
monument  is  seen  Julius  II.  himself,  “held  suspended’’ 
by  two  angels  of  contrasted  aspect:  the  Genius  of  the 
Larth  is  sad,  and  weeps  the  loss  which  has  just  fallen 
upon  this  lower  world;  the  Angel  of  Heaven  rejoices,  and 
is  proud  to  introduce  this  new-comer  into  the  abodes  of 
the  blessed.  Two  other  angels  stoop  over  the  pontiffs 
feet. 

So  far  we  have  only  the  general  outlines  of  this  pyra- 


i5 


The  Story  of  a Tomb 

mid  in  marble,  with  its  celestial  and  terrestrial  person- 
ages. Add  to  this  kermes,  putti , and  masks,  scattered 
everywhere  and  in  great  numbers,  and  a profusion  also  of 
arabesques,  flowers,  fruit,  and  other  architectural  orna- 
ments. Add,  moreover,  important  decorations  in  bronze: 
large  reliefs  with  divers  scenes,  plaques  with  inscriptions, 
balustrades.  Combining  the  data  given  by  Condivi  with 
the  indications  in  the  drawing  of  the  Uffizi,  Mr.  C.  H. 
Wilson 1 arrives  at  the  prodigious  number  of  seventy- 
eight  statues,  most  of  them  as  large  as  the  Moses  of  San 
Pietro  in  Vincoli,  and  the  Slaves  in  the  Uouvre — an  Ossa 
of  giants  on  a Pelion  of  colossi.  Doubtless,  certain  tum- 
ulary  monuments  of  pontiffs  of  the  Quattrocento — notably 
those  of  Nicholas  V.  and  Pius  II. — have  already  shown 
us  the  ever-increasing  proportions  of  sepulchres,  once  so 
modest  and  simple;  but  to  find  anything  like  this  project 
of  a tomb  we  must  ascend  the  stream  of  time  : we  must  go 
back  as  far  as  the  period  of  the  Caesars  and  take  account 
of  the  gigantic  mausolea  of  two  emperors:  that  Mauso- 
leum of  Augustus,  within  which,  in  our  day,  a whole 
circus  disports  itself;  and  that  Tomb  of  Hadrian,  which 
lodges  an  entire  fortress. 

The  gigantic,  the  immoderate,  the  excessive,  besets  you 
at  each  step  in  this  funereal  vision.  What  hyperbole,  for 
instance,  in  these  Arts,  “ prisoners  of  Death  ” and  expir- 
ing because  Julius  II.  disappears  from  the  world  ! and  how 
surprising  that  the  austere  Buonarroti  should  invent  a 
flattery  so  incredible  ! It  must  be  remembered  also  that 
the  new  Basilica  of  S.  Peter,  the  vault  of  the  Sistine,  and 

1 Life  and  Works  of  Michelangelo,  2ded.,  London,  1881.  p.  79- 


1 6 Rome  and  the  Renaissance 

the  Vatican  Stanze — the  three  greatest  titles  to  fame  of 
the  Maecenas-Pope — as  yet  are  not.  It  is  also  entirely  in 
advance  of  the  Bolognese  and  the  Mirandolan  expeditions 
that  Michelangelo  celebrates  the  victories  and  conquests 
of  the  Rovere.  “ The  Pope,”  observes  Mr.  Wilson,  a 
little  mischievously,  “ has  then  no  secrets  for  the  artist; 
he  confides  to  him  his  great  projects  for  the  future;  he 
is  even  so  sure  of  success  that  he  allows  himself  to  be 
proclaimed  ten  times  conqueror  in  a design  made  before 
there  had  been  even  a declaration  of  war.”  Perhaps, 
however,  after  all,  and  without  any  special  confidence 
from  the  Pope,  the  artist  grasped  the  entire  meaning  of 
a recent  bull  (January  io,  1504)  which  had  declared  the 
inalienable  rights  of  the  Church  against  the  usurpers 
of  her  domains.  But  these  domains,  plucked  from 
usurpation  and  recovered  in  the  name  of  the  law, — why 
represent  them  as  conquered  enemies,  trodden  under  foot 
and  biting  the  dust  ? Why,  in  general,  and  in  pre- 
sence of  death,  extol  solely  strength,  dominion,  glory, — 
grant  nothing  to  humility,  devotion,  charity  ? This 
absence  of  all  religious  sentiment,  of  all  Christian 
thought- — -najq  even,  of  all  emblems  of  the  Catholic 
faith,  upon  a tomb  destined  for  a pontiff,  is  assuredly 
one  of  the  most  curious  phenomena  of  the  Renaissance. 
Of  the  two  solitary  Biblical  figures  in  this  vast  compos- 
ition, the  Moses  whom  we  know  has  certainly  nothing 
evangelical  in  his  aspect;  and  his  pendant,  the  S.  Paul 
Leaning  on  a Sword,  in  all  probability  scarcely  differed 
from  him  in  expression.  Vainly  one  seeks  those  statues 
or  medallions  of  the  Virgin  and  Child,  those  reliefs  of  the 


Statue  of  Moses  (Michelangelo) 


i6 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


the  •’  aie:.!!  Stanze — the  three  greatest  titles  to  fame  of 
1 ’ope— às  yet  are  not.  It  is  a'  so  entirely  in 
<.  bolognese  and  the  Mirandola-,  expeditions 
o: do  celebrates  the  victories  and  conquests 
> “The  Pope,”  observes  Mi  Wilson,  a 

.ly,  “ has  then  no  secrets  for  the  artist; 

. him  his  great  projects  for  the  future;  he 
sure  of  success  that  he  allows  himself  to  be 
ten  times  conqueror  in  a design  made  before 
« ■.  . been  even  a declaration  of  war,"  Perhaps, 

•r,  after  all,  and  without  any  special  confidence 
he  Pope,  the  artist  grasped  the  entire  nu  ailing  of 
et  bull  (January  io,  1504)  which  had  declared  the 
smble  rights  of  the  Church  against  the  usurpers 
: T domains.  But  these  domains,  plucked  from 
11  tion  and  recovered  in  the  name  of  the  law, — why 
■>.  nt  them  as  conquered  enemies,  trodden  under  foot 
è ting  the  dust?  Why,  in  general,  and  in  pre- 
, i f death,  extol  solely  strength,  dominion,  glory, — 
hug  to  humility,  devotion,  chant}  ? This 
f all  religious  sentiment,  of  all  Christian 
nay,  even,  of  all  emblems  of  the  Catholic 
v;  , 1 tomb  destined  for  a pontiff,  is  assuredly 
,.  :st  curious  phenomena  of  the  Renaissance. 
..  .jiitary  Biblical  figures  in  this  vast  compos* 
• whom  we  know  ’•  is  certainly  nothing 
his  aspect;  and  his  pennant,  the  S.  Paul 
a Sword,  in  all  prol  cely  differed 

him  in  expression.  Vainly  one  seeks  those  statues 

of  l3e 


The  Story  of  a Tomb 


i7 


Annunciation  or  the  Assumption,  which  the  Quattro- 
centisti never  failed  to  place  in  such  positions.  In  Con- 
divi’s  description,  as  in  the  Uffizi  drawing,  there  is  not  so 
much  as  a crucifix  to  be  found!  1 

In  two  or  three  weeks  the  project  of  the  monument  had 
been  elaborated  by  the  sculptor  and  approved  by  the 
Pope;  in  the  month  of  April,  1505,  we  see  Michelangelo 
in  the  midst  of  work  in  the  Carrara  quarries.  He  remains 
there  eight  long  months,  directs  the  excavations,  makes 
contracts  for  transportation,— many  of  these  contracts 
have  been  preserved  to  us, — and  sends  to  Rome  the 
blocks  as  fast  as  they  are  quarried  and  roughed  out.  In 
one  of  his  most  beautiful  sonnets,  Buonarroti  speaks 
magnificently  of  “those  living  figures  which,  from  the 
silent  depths  of  the  stone,  slowly  emerge  into  the  light  of 
day  under  the  repeated  blows  of  the  mallet.”  Deep 
within  those  belts  of  Ifigurian  marble,  facing  the  azure 
sea,  how  many  “living  figures”  were  thus  concealed, 
how  many  blows  of  the  mallet  were  yet  to  be  given! 
Once,  even,  he  has  the  strange  idea  of  cutting  a mount- 
ain into  human  form,  an  immense  cliff  in  its  proud 
position  between  Carrara  and  the  sea,  and  making  it  a 
beacon  for  sailors  off  the  Riviera  di  Levante  ! These  are 
visions  kindred  to  the  Rhodian  Colossus  and  to  Cyclo- 
pean labours. 

Colossal  and  cyclopean,  but  in  a very  different  style, 

1 It  is  only  in  later  designs  for  the  monument,  and  after  its  size 
had  been  reduced,  that  the  thought  appears  of  placing  the  Virgin 
in  medallion  or  statue.  (See  the  drawing  in  the  Beckerath  col- 
lection ; see  also  the  monument  in  San  Pietro  in  Vincoli.) 


i8 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


was  the  work  which,  meanwhile,  had  been  decided  upon 
in  Rome.  In  frequent  conversations  during  the  month  of 
March,  1505,  on  the  subject  of  the  monument,  the  ques- 
tion of  its  site  had  been  many  times  discussed,  and  it  had 
been  finally  settled,  to  the  satisfaction  both  of  the  Pope 
and  the  sculptor.  The  tomb  of  Julius  II.  could  be  no- 
where else  than  in  that  Basilica  of  the  Vatican,  where 
already  reposed,  around  S.  Peter’s  tomb,  the  most  re- 
nowned pontiffs  of  Christendom.  The  naves  of  this 
church  are  not  broad  enough,  it  is  true,  nor  are  they  high 
enough,  to  receive  the  enormous  pyramid  which  is  in 
preparation,  but  Nicholas  V.,  more  than  half  a century 
earlier,  had  begun  work  for  the  enlargement  of  the  choir; 
this  work,  long  since  interrupted,  shall  now  be  resumed 
and  promptly  completed  in  a manner  to  furnish  the 
required  space. 

After  Michelangelo’s  departure  for  Carrara,  the  Pope 
continues  to  discuss  this  matter  with  his  architects, 
notably  with  Giuliano  di  Sangallo  and  Bramante;  but 
now  objections  are  brought  up,  difficulties  appear  on 
every  side;  to  complete  the  apse  of  Nicholas  V.  seems  to 
be  but  a second-rate  expedient,  and  of  doubtful  success; 
and  thus,  after  a long-continued  interchange  of  ideas, 
Julius  II.  arrives  at  a daring  and  never-to-be-forgotten 
decision.  He  decides  to  pull  down  the  old  Basilica  com- 
pletely; and  to  construct  a new  one,  e più  bella  e più  mag- 
nifica, as  the  excellent  Condivi  placidly  remarks.  Master 
Donato  da  Urbino,  surnamed  il  Bramante , promises  to 
construct  a marvel,  a prodigy,  a very  miracle  in  stone  — 
nothing  less  than  to  lift  in  air  Agrippa’ s Pantheon  and 


The  Story  of  a Tomb 


*9 


to  place  it1  upon  that  Basilica  of  Constantine  whose  ruins 
are  the  admiration  and  the  dismay  of  every  visitor  to  the 
Roman  Forum. 

To  destroy  the  church  built  by  Constantine  and  Pope 
Sylvester  ; to  demolish  a building  around  which  clung 
the  most  august  and  ancient  traditions  of  Christendom;  to 
disturb  the  repose  of  Leo  the  Great,  of  Gregory  the  Great, 
of  Nicholas  I.  and  so  many  other  heroes  of  the  Faith; 
to  touch  the  very  tomb  of  Saint  Peter!  Infatuated  as 
Humanism  was  with  its  own  merits,  its  virtù , — disrespect- 
ful as  it  was  towards  past  ages,  so  long  as  they  were  not 
classic  and  pagan, — this  plan  did  not  fail  to  be  a great 
shock  to  men’s  minds.  The  whole  Sacred  College  pro- 
tested, Mignanti  tells  us,  who  derived  his  information 
from  authentic  sources: 

“ The  Cardinals  were  of  opinion  that  it  would  be  very 
difficult  to  obtain  the  money  necessary  for  a construction 
of  such  importance,  since  the  powerful  Constantine  him- 
self, with  all  the  resources  of  the  Empire  at  his  command, 
had  not  without  difficulty  erected  the  present  Basilica, 
a very  simple  building  in  comparison  with  the  one  now 
projected.  Moreover,  the  reconstruction  would  destroy 
a multitude  of  precious  and  honourable  memories,  thus 
wounding  the  piety  of  the  devout,  and  diminishing  their 
zeal  in  visiting  the  sanctuary.” 

Among  the  public  at  large,  the  excitement  at  the  first 
moment  was  even  much  more  intense;  and  to  appease 

1 Hadrian's  Pantheon,  by  the  indisputable  testimony  of  brick- 
stamps  found  in  every  part  of  the  great  dome,  in  1892-93,  by  M. 
George  Chedanne,  of  the  French  Academy  in  Rome. — Tr. 


20 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


it  the  Pope  was  compelled  to  announce  that  the  pro- 
ject was  postponed  for  further  consideration.  As  early 
as  the  month  of  November,  1505,  however,  he  solemnly 
makes  known  his  fixed  resolution  to  the  municipal  au- 
thorities of  Milan,  and  asks  them  to  assist  in  the  great 
work  by  large  gifts  of  money. 

I am  well  aware  that  in  our  day  — but  in  our  day  only 
— the  idea  has  been  adopted  that  the  demolition  of  the  old 
Basilica  was  purely  a technical  question.  But  does  not 
the  great  Beo  Alberti,  writing  about  the  middle  of  the  fif- 
teenth century,  aver,  in  his  treatise  De  re  (edificatoria , that 
the  Vatican  Church  at  that  time  leaned  towards  the  left  in 
a manner  to  cause  great  anxiety  ; and  is  this  not  repeated, 
sixty  years  later,  by  Sigismond  de’  Conti  ? Had  not  Nich- 
olas V.  proposed,  according  to  his  biographer  Manetti,  the 
complete  rebuilding  of  S.  Peter’s  ? Evidently,  the  edifice 
had  long  threatened  to  fall,  and  in  ordering  its  destruction 
the  Rovere  yielded  only  to  a necessity  growing  more  and 
more  imperious.  Why,  however,  does  no  contemporary 
insist  upon  any  such  necessity?  Why  was  not,  in  1505, 
an  argument  so  decisive  brought  to  bear  upon  the  recal- 
citrant cardinals  ? All  the  persons  who  at  first  speak  to 
us  of  Julius  II.  ’s  colossal  undertaking,  whether  historians, 
diplomats,  or  artists,  with  one  voice  agree  in  describing  it 
as  the  result  of  a spontaneous  inspiration  of  the  Pope,  of 
a desire  on  his  part  (which  seems  to  them  perfect! y legiti- 
mate) to  do  a grand,  a magnificent  thing — più  bello  e più 
magnifico. 

Nicholas  V.  was  so  far  from  meditating  this  destruction 
of  the  most  ancient  temple  of  the  Christian  faith  in  Rome, 


The  Story  of  a Tomb  21 

that  during  his  whole  reign  he  never  ceased  adorning  it 
with  new  mosaics  and  paintings.  His  intention  was 
solely  and  simply  to  enlarge  its  apse.'  All  that  can 
fairly  be  deduced  from  the  assertions  of  Alberti  or  of 
Conti  is  that  the  Vatican  Church  was  in  need  of  sub- 
stantial repairs.  No  Christian  edifice  — Bramante’s  least 
of  all  — has  been  secure  from  such  a necessity.  Finally, 
even  if  we  admit  the  irremediable  dilapidation  of  S. 
Peter’s  in  1505,  did  not  a becoming  respect  for  memories 
so  grand,  so  august,  command  at  least  that  the  sanctuary 
be  rebuilt  in  its  ancient  and  consecrated  form, — that, 
especially,  the  mosaics,  the  altars,  and  the  tombs  should 
be  preserved  and  replaced  ? And  had  not  this  been  the 
invariable  procedure  in  Rome  during  the  mediaeval  period 
when  it  was  a question  of  restoring  ecclesiastical  edifices  ? 

I shall  venture  to  present  still  one  other  consideration, 
which  perhaps  is  not  entirely  without  importance.  The 
sentence  of  Julius  II.,  having  been  pronounced,  the  old 
Basilica  was  not  thereupon  razed  to  the  ground  in  a day 
and  at  a blow.  It  was  demolished  piecemeal,  one  portion 
after  another,  during  an  entire  century,  to  correspond 
with  the  advance  of  the  new  edifice.  During  all  this 
century  also,  and  notwithstanding  the  accumulated  ruins, 
it  did  not  cease  to  be  the  theatre  of  the  great  pontifical 
functions,  to  the  extreme  displeasure  of  ambassadors  and 
illustrissimi , vastly  incommoded  by  draughts  and  dust 

1 Bunsen,  Beschrcibung  der  Stadt  Rom , i.,  2,  remarks  very  justly 
that  Manetti,  the  too  often  boastful  biographer  of  Nicholas  V., 
while  attributing  to  that  pontiff  the  most  extraordinary  projects  in 
respect  to  the  Leonine  City,  never  speaks  of  S.  Peter’s  as  at  all 
threatening  ruin. 


22 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


and  the  heat  of  the  sun  ; to  the  despair,  also,  of  masters 
of  ceremonies,  who,  on  these  solemn  occasions,  knew  not 
which  way  to  turn.  Paris  de  Grassis,  the  master  of  cere- 
monies under  Julius  II.  and  L,eo  X.,  the  Dangeau  of 
these  two  pontificates,  is  never  done  complaining,  in  his 
Journal , of  the  difficulties  he  had  at  each  fumione  in 
getting  in  place  his  scaffoldings,  boards,  and  tapestries,  in 
the  midst  of  the  maladetta  fabbrica.  The  coronation  of 
Sixtus  V.,  in  1585,  takes  place,  after  the  usual  custom,  on 
the  great  terrace  of  the  old  Basilica;  the  atrium,  the  fa- 
cade of  the  church,  and  the  long  nave  are  still  standing; 
the  last  of  it  is  not  demolished  until  1609,  under  Paul  V. 
Borghese.  Now,  during  the  whole  course  of  this  long 
and  slow  destruction,  we  hear  of  no  accidental  falling  in, 
of  no  fragment  of  wall  giving  way  of  itself;  up  to  the  very 
last  the  noble  old  edifice  yields  only  to  blows  of  pickaxe 
and  mattock:  frangitur  non  flectitur.  We  read  in  Bunsen 
that  the  beams  of  the  roof  were  esteemed  strong  enough 
to  be  used  as  timbers  in  an  entirely  new  building  of  the 
time,  the  Farnese  palace! 

On  his  return  from  Carrara  (January,  1506)  Buonarroti 
saw  the  demolition  already  begun.  He  makes  no  objec- 
tions to  it,  let  us  say  at  once;  he  will  even  all  his  life  be 
proud  of  having  been  the  occasion  ( Venne  ad  esser  cagione, 
is  Condivi’s  expression)  of  the  renewal  of  the  Basilica. 
He  is,  moreover,  full  of  ardour  and  confidence  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  mausoleum  ; he  writes  to  Florence  to  have  all  his 
drawings  sent  to  him;  he  has  the  blocks  of  marble  trans- 
ported from  the  bank  of  the  Tiber  to  the  great  Piazza  di 
San  Pietro,  “ behind  S.  Catherine’s  church,”  where  the 


Bound  Captive  (Michelangelo) 
See  p.  358 


i the  Rei  tissance 

to  the  de-'-;'  !so,  of  asters 
hese  solemn  occasions*  knew  not 
...  u. vii.  Paris  de  Grassis,  the  master  of  eere- 
r Julius  II.  and  Leo  X.,  the  l >au - u of 
utificates,  is  never  done  complaining,  in  his 
difficulties  he  had  at  each  funzione  in 
- scaffoldings,  boards,  and  tapestries,  in 
; maledetta  fabbrica.  The  coronation  of 
, . 1585,  takes  place,  after  the  istom,  on 

• race  of  the  old  Basilica;  the  ' .•  > the  fa- 
churcb,  and  the  long  nave  are  - tiding; 
is  not  demolished  until  1609,  >.:•  : ; tul  V. 

Now,  during  the  whole  course  of  r.ts  long 
truction,  we  hear  of  no  accident  ù 1 in, 
;j«nt  of  wall  giving  way  of  itself  ; up  to  :hr  very 
ioble  old  edifice  yields  only  to  blow  s < •.  pick  axe 
took;  frangitur  non  fleefitur.  We r-...r.  u.  1 urn  sen 
t.hc  reams  of  the  roof  were  esteemed  strong  tough 
. ; timbers  in  an  entirely  new  bvu.iimr.  v the 
; -s<.;  palace! 

m from  Carrara  (January,  1506  ' bn <>n arroti 
!y  begli  1.  He  ; ; ■ no  o!  jec- 

iet  us  say  at  once;  he  will  even  all  bis  life  be 
ii  u ing  been  the  occasion  ( Venne  ad  scr  . ag  ione , 
Lvi’g  expression)  of  the  renewal  ..bilica. 

■ er,  full  of  ardour  and  cot  sub- 

1 solemn  writes  to  ' to  ha\e  all  his 

he  has  the  ! ■ 

of  the  Tib-  t 1 1 di 

: ■ S.  Cathe  • V'  where  the 


(ojHov:AjaHoiI/[)  hvit'iaD  crauofl 

A ^ 


The  Story  of  a Tomb 


23 


Pope  has  assigned  him  a studio.  Julius  II.  pays  him 
frequent  visits  in  this  studio,  and  even  has  “a  draw- 
bridge” constructed,  upon  which  he  can  cross  directly 
from  the  Vatican  to  the  artist’s  abode.  The  Pope,  how- 
ever, no  longer  has  for  the  famous  tomb  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  preceding  year;  he  speaks  of  it  less  and  less;  he 
has  quite  new  projects  in  mind,  and  proposes  to  the 
sculptor,  already  so  famous  by  reason  of  the  Pietà  and  the 
David , to  adorn  with  frescos  the  vault  of  the  Sistine.  He 
insists;  Michelangelo  refuses,  and  with  good  reason, — 
“ not  being  a painter,”  as  he  will  have  occasion  to  declare 
more  than  once. 

Why  is  the  Pope  on  this  new  tack,  why  does  he  thus 
suddenly  abandon  his  long  - cherished  design  ? — The 
caprice  of  a despot,  whose  whims  change  at  the  wind’s 
will,  some  of  his  biographers  have  thought;  an  old  man’s 
superstition,  Condivi  asserts,  and  Bramante’s  infamous 
intrigues,  which  succeeded  in  making  Julius  II.  afraid  of 
having  a tomb  built  for  himself  while  he  was  yet  alive. 
This  I scarcely  believe.  Whatever  judgment  we  may 
form  of  the  Rovere,  it  is  impossible  to  deny  him  a certain 
real  grandeur  of  soul  : in  matters  of  art,  as  in  matters  of 
statecraft,  the  universal  interests  of  the  Church,  as  he 
understood  them,  always  took  precedence  with  him  over 
considerations  of  expediency  or  of  personal  aggrandise- 
ment. Once  fired  with  the  idea  of  building  for  the 
Catholic  world  a temple  such  as  had  never  before  been 
seen,  is  it  wonderful  that  he  lost  his  ardour  about  a 
strictly  personal  monument,  destined  for  his  own  glory; 
that  he  felt  even  a certain  remorse,  possibly  even  shame 


24 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


at  it  ? Michelangelo  did  not  fail  to  perceive  the  change, 
but  without  penetrating  its  cause;  and  he  reproaches 
Bramante  especially  for  having  cut  the  ground  from 
under  his  feet  with  the  master.  Also  he  reproaches  him, 
and  far  more  justly,  with  proceeding  blindly  in  the  de- 
molition of  S.  Peter’s,  and  destroying  more  than  one  pre- 
cious column  which  might  have  been  used  for  the  new 
building. 

In  truth,  Bramante’s  rage  in  destroying  was  worthy  of 
Julius  II. ’s  own  fiery  enthusiasm  — worthy,  also,  of  the 
pride  of  Humanism  and  its  total  failure  to  comprehend  the 
great  past  of  Christendom.  A thing  scarcely  credible  is 
that  not  until  the  reign  of  Sixtus  V.  did  the  idea  occur  to 
any  man’s  mind  to  collect  with  some  care  the  débris  of 
the  former  sanctuary, — the  altars,  tombs,  mosaics,  statues, 
and  reliefs, — and  make  something  like  an  accurate  re- 
gister of  them.  For  the  eighty  years  preceding,  no  care 
had  been  taken  of  these  glorious  fragments;  they  had 
been  left  to  be  scattered  to  the  winds  or  buried  under  the 
ruins,  to  be  broken  up  and  wasted;  and  Master  Donato 
himself  it  was  who  set  the  deadly  example  of  vandalism, 
at  a date  no  earlier  than  the  sixteenth  century.  The 
Romans,  having  no  idea  of  the  future  S.  Peter’s,  and  see- 
ing only  the  frightful  ruins  of  the  present  one, — seeing, 
moreover,  whole  regions  of  the  city  torn  up  in  laying  out 
the  new  Via  Giulia  and  the  Bungara,  and  the  Vatican 
itself  all  in  disorder  with  the  construction  of  the  Belve- 
dere, the  Cortile  of  San  Damaso,  and  galleries  without 
end, — the  Romans  conceived  a horror  of  this  great  de- 
molisher,  the  Haussmann  of  the  Renaissance.  Rate  in 


The  Story  of  a Tomb 


25 


the  reign  of  Julius  II.,  June  12,  1512,  Paris  de  Grassis 
writes  in  his  private  Journal  : “ Architedum  Bramantem, 
sen  potius  Ruìnantem,  ut  communiter  vocabitur.  . . 

A curious  pamphlet  of  the  day  1 represents  the  famous 
architect,  after  his  death,  knocking  at  the  gate  of  Paradise, 
which  S.  Peter  refuses  to  open:  “ Why  did  you  destroy 
my  temple  in  Rome  which,  by  its  very  antiquity,  called 
even  the  least  devout  to  God  ? You  are  the  rascal  to 
whom  we  owe  this  evil  deed.”  After  many  subterfuges 
and  evasions,  the  architect  confesses  that  he  likes  to  de- 
molish,— that  he  should  like  to  destroy  the  world;  that 
he  tried,  indeed,  to  ruin  the  Pope.  “ But  you  failed  in 
that,”  says  S.  Peter.  11  Yes,  for  Julius  did  not  put  his 
hand  into  his  own  pocket  to  build  the  new  church,  but 
relied  on  indulgences  and  the  confessional.”  The  con- 
clusion of  this  jocose  pamphlet  is  vastly  amusing:  Bra- 
mante finally  proposes  to  make  his  own  conditions  for 
effecting  an  entrance  into  Paradise.  Impenitent  and  im- 
pertinent, he  will  reconstruct  Heaven  itself: 

11  I shall  begin  by  getting  rid  of  this  road  which  is  so 
steep  and  difficult,  that  leads  up  here  from  the  earth;  I 
shall  make  one  broad  and  easy,  so  that  feeble  old  souls  can 
come  up  on  horseback.  Also  I shall  pull  down  this  Para- 
dise of  yours  and  build  another  with  much  finer  and  more 
cheerful  residences  for  your  beati."  “And  where  do  you 
propose  to  lodge  my  people  while  you  are  constructing  all 

1 Simla,  by  Andrea  Guarna  da  Salerno,  Milan,  1517.  I quote 
from  extracts  given  by  Bossi  (Il  Cenacolo  di  Leonardo  da  Vinci, 

1810,  4°,  pp.  246-249).  It  has  been  impossible  for  me  to  find  the 
Batin  original  in  Rome. 


2Ó 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


this?”  ‘‘Oh,  your  people  are  accustomed  to  incon- 
veniences; they  have  had  a great  many  in  their  time. 
Some  flayed  alive,  some  stoned  to  death,  they  obtained 
their  citizenship  here  by  all  sorts  of  discomforts.  Besides, 
in  this  salubrious  air,  they  will  not  take  cold.  . . . 

You  are  not  pleased  with  my  plans?  Very  good,  I shall 
go  to  the  other  place  then!  ” 

Notice  the  allusion  to  the  indulgences  which  are  to  pay 
for  building  the  new  church!  And  this  arrow  is  aimed 
at  Julius  II.  from  Milan,  a Cisalpine  city,  long  before 
the  theses  of  Martin  Luther  appeared!  A hundred  and 
fifty  years  later,  let  us  hear  what  a Jesuit  will  say,  a card- 
inal, the  eminent  historian  of  the  Council  of  Trent,  Sforza 
Pallavicini:  ‘ ‘ This  material  edifice  of  S.  Peter’s  has  de- 
stroyed a great  part  of  his  spiritual  building.  To  procure 
the  prodigious  millions  required  by  a construction  so 
enormous,  recourse  was  had  to  means  which  gave  the  first 
occasion  to  the  Lutheran  heresy,  and  inflicted  upon  the 
Church,  in  the  end,  the  loss  of  many  millions  of  souls.” 
At  the  price  of  what  a schism  in  the  great  Christian 
family  was  to  arise  the  temple  whose  corner-stone  Julius 
II.  laid,  the  Saturday  in  albis,  1506! 

He  came  in  solemn  procession,  attended  by  thirtj'-five 
cardinals.  After  a mass  of  the  Santo  Spirito  by  Cardinal 
Francesco  Soderini,  the  Rovere  approached  a deep,  broad 
trench,  “ like  a chasm  in  the  earth,”  which  had  been  dug 
where  now,  beneath  the  dome,  stands  the  statue  of  S. 
Veronica.  The  old  man,  with  worn-out  body  and  soul  of 
iron,  went  down  by  a ladder  into  this  chasm:  “ And  as 
there  was  much  anxiety  felt  lest  the  ground  should  give 


A Victory  (Michelangelo} 
Seep.  359 


Renaissance 


- -t;  accustomed  to  incori-, 

in  their  time. 

. v gfd  alive,  ìris  > death,  they'  obtained 

: cirri: , enship here l s<  •••?; storta.  Be  v 

in  »?  ibrious  air,  ; i-atc  ;«!. 

V;  ! t pie  sed  with  - gooc  . h 

i;  : • th.  v place  thes.  ' 

on  to  the  > i which  are  to  p 
e new  church  I irrow  is  aimed 

from  Milan,  a ■■  *ty,  long  before 

Martin  Luther  A hundred  and 

, . let  n : • ■ at  Jesuit  will  s<  -,  a ard- 

ithistorui.  c i of  Trent,  Sforza 

Palla  h. ^material  e Peter’s  has  de- 

•i roved  a great  j>a;  ; of  his  spiritual  building.  To  vocine 
the  prodigious  millions  required  by  a construction  o 
recourse  w . to  means  which  gave  l he  in  mt 
to  the  Lutheran  htresv,  and  inflicted  ujxm  the 
e end,  the  loss  of  many  millions  of  St  als.' 

a schism  in  the  great  Christ 
.>  was  to  arise  the  temple  whose  corner-stom  Julius 
ud,  the  Saturday  in  alius,  1506! 

He  came  in  solemn  procession,  attended  by  thirty-five 
cardinals,  \fter  a mass  of  the  Santo  Spirito  by  Cardinal 
Francesi.  • ri  ni,  the  Rovere  approached  a deep  road 
trench,  " >i  ■ i chasm  in  the  earth,”  whi  h had  been  dug 
where  now  beneath,  the  dome,  st  statue  of  S. 

Veronica.  The  <>:  : man,  with  worn  • : »>  ly  and  soul  of 

iron,  went  down  a ladder  ir  . asm:  ” And  as 

there  was  much  ...  xietv  fi-h  ' and  should  give 

fojaoKAjaHbiM)  yjiotdiV  A 

A** 


i 


The  Story  of  a Tomb 


27 


way,”  says  Paris  de  Grassis,  “ the  Pope  called  out  to 
those  above  not  to  come  too  near  the  edge.”  The  usual 
medals  and  inscriptions  were  deposited;  the  foundations 
were  consecrated;  and  Julius  II.  returned  up  the  ladder. 

This  took  place  on  the  18th  of  April,  1506;  the  preced- 
ing day,  the  17th,  Michelangelo  had  made  his  escape 
from  Rome!  Irritated,  desperate,  seized  with  inexplic- 
able terrors,  he  went  away  suddenly  and  secretly,  leaving 
his  studio,  his  blocks  of  marble,  and  the  fatal  monument, 
which  was  destined  to  throw  its  shadow  over  his  sad  ca- 
reer for  many  years  to  come.  This  tomb,  he  said  later, 
had  been  the  tragedy  of  his  life.  It  was,  perhaps,  also, 
the  tragedy  of  the  Renaissance  and  of  Roman  Catholicism. 


CHAPTER  III 


THE  OLD  BASILICA 

Crossing  this  morning,  under  a burning  sun,  the  Piazza 
di  San  Pietro,  I was  more  than  ever  displeased  with  the 
Emperor  Henry  IV.  for  destroying,  during  the  siege  of 
1083,  the  imposing  portico  which,  up  to  the  time  of 
Gregory  VII.,  had  united  the  Vatican  Basilica  with  the 
western  extremity  of  the  bridge  of  S.  Angelo.  This  gal- 
lery was  not  of  conspicuous  regularity,  making  an  angle 
near  the  church  of  Santa  Maria  Transpontina;  I imagine 
that  it  may  have  resembled  that  succession  of  arcades  in 
Bologna  which  ascends  from  the  Porta  Saragozza  to  the 
heights  of  the  Madonna  di  San  Luca:  but  it  must  have 
been  very  much  appreciated  by  those  who 

Dall'  un  lato  tutti  hanno  la  fronte 
Verso  il  Castello , e vanno  a San-Pietro , 

Dall'  altra  sponda  vanno  verso  'l  monte. 

Why  had  not  the  successors  of  Pope  Alexander  VII. 
thought  of  reconstructing  a work  which,  besides  its  man- 
ifest utility,  would  have  further  enhanced  the  splendour 
of  this  square,  already  unequalled  in  the  world  ? Imagine, 
instead  of  the  shabby  block  of  houses  between  the  two 
streets,  the  Borgo  Vecchio  and  the  Borgo  Nuovo,  a double 
portico  extending  from  the  Piazza  Pia  to  Bernini’s  col- 
onnade: what  superb  Propyl  sea  for  a Christian  Parthenon, 

28 


The  Old  Basilica 


29 


and  how  Michelangelo’s  dome,  now  crushed  for  lack  of 
suitable  points  of  view,  would  then  become  visible  from 
afar,  in  all  its  majestic  grandeur!  It  was  no  fault  of  the 
Comte  de  Tournon,  the  vigilant  and  intelligent  Prefect 
of  Rome  during  the  captivity  of  Pius  VII.,  that  this  im- 
mense plan  failed  of  execution  at  the  beginning  of  the 
present  century:  the  decree  of  Napoleon  sanctioning  the 
project  is  dated  August  8,  1811;  the  fatal  Russian  cam- 
paign reversed  this  decision. 

I have  allowed  myself  to-day  the  melancholy  pleasure 
of  reconstructing  in  thought,  and  here  upon  the  very  spot, 
the  old  Basilica  of  S.  Peter’s  as  it  was  known  to  the  gen- 
eration of  Julius  II.  before  the  fatal  sentence  of  1505. 
The  second  volume  of  Bunsen  1 has  been  to  me  one  of  the 
most  valuable  of  guides  in  this  “ Archaeological  Prom- 
enade,” and  especially  has  made  very  visible  to  my  mind 
the  extraordinary  fortune  of  this  little  space  of  earth,  of 
origins  so  humble,  of  destinies  so  marvellous!  The 
Capitol  and  the  Palatine,  the  Quirinal,  the  Aventine, 
the  Coelian,  the  Esquiline,  and  the  Viminal  had  already 
shone  with  a glory  ten  times  secular,  while  the  Mons 
Vaticanus  was  still  fuori  le  mure  and  outside  of  history; 
Livy  scarcely  mentions  it.  Two  names  especially,  one, 
the  purest,  the  other,  the  most  ignoble,  in  Roman  story, 
had  left  their  trace  in  the  region  beyond  the  Tiber:  here 
Cincinnatus  cultivated  his  modest  field  oprata  Quindici)-, 
here  Nero  lighted  up  his  living  torches  of  Christian 

1 Which,  however,  must  be  corrected  at  many  points  in  accord- 
ance with  the  more  recent  works  of  De  Rossi,  Muntz,  Stevenson, 
Kirsch,  and  others,  and  especially  with  the  valuable  Codex  Gri- 
maldi (of  the  Barberini  Library),  of  the  year  1619. 


30 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


martyrs.  The  region  was  malarial,  in  spite  of  the  exten- 
sive gardens  which  covered  its  surface;  even  the  wine  it 
produced  was  regarded  with  suspicion.  Vaticana  bibis, 
bibis  venemum , says  Martial.  The  German  and  Gallic 
soldiers  of  Vitellius  paid  with  their  lives,  according  to 
Tacitus,  for  the  imprudence  of  camping  infamibus  Vati- 
cani locis.  In  this  ill-famed  region,  however,  on  the  edge 
of  Nero’s  horrible  Circus,  Pope  Sylvester  erected  his 
Christian  temple,  after  Constantine’s  great  victory  over 
Maxenti  us.  And  soon,  among  all  the  hills  of  Rome,  the 
world  remembered  no  other  but  this  desert  slope  which 
held  the  tomb  of  a poor  Galilean  fisherman  ! 

Innumerable  buildings  have  sprung  up  since,  in  the 
long  course  of  centuries,  to  people  and  even  to  encumber 
the  region  once  so  solitary;  descriptions  which  we  have 
of  the  Vatican  Piazza,  at  the  close  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
give  the  idea  of  an  excessive  crowd.  To  the  right,  on  the 
north,  the  pontifical  palace  reared  its  crenelated  walls, 
and  multiplied  its  towers,  its  courts,  and  its  loggie.  At 
the  left,  annexes  and  dependencies  innumerable  clinging 
to  the  side  of  S.  Peter’s  crowded  upon  the  noble  monu- 
ment with  their  diffuse  and  incongruous  masses.  As  far 
as  the  eye  could  penetrate,  there  were  sacristies,  presby- 
teries, oratories,  chapels,  churches  circular  or  rectangular, 
— there  were  convents,  hospitals,  mausolea,  and  ceme- 
teries; these  buildings  obstructed  the  avenues,  spreading 
out  especially  towards  the  south,  on  the  side  of  the  Nero- 
nian  Circus,  and  surrounded  its  gziglia.'  In  the  midst, 

1 Guglia  (i acuglia , needle)  was  the  name  given  by  the  populace 
to  the  obelisk  which  crowned  the  sphia  of  Nero’s  (or  rather  Calig- 


The  Old  Basilica 


31 


however,  of  all  this  parasitic  growth  of  buildings,  Pope 
Sylvester’s  Basilica  retained  its  primitive  form,  keeping 
intact  its  great  architectural  lines.  The  decoration  and 
the  fitting-up  may  have  been  often  changed  and  renewed, 
but  the  constituent  parts  of  the  edifice  remained  the  same 
up  to  the  time  of  Julius  II.;  indeed,  we  may  say,  until 
the  close  of  the  sixteenth  century. 

A stately  flight  of  steps  (thirty-five  in  number,  divided 
into  five  sections),  all  of  marble  and  porphyry,  led  from 
the  ground  to  the  immense  plateau  on  which  the  Basilica 
stood.  At  the  top  of  this  flight  of  steps  there  was  an  ex- 
tensive terrace,  over  fifty  feet  deep:  here  took  place  the 
Benedictions  urbi  et  orbi,  the  papal  coronations,  the  solemn 
receptions  of  kings  and  emperors,  and  many  other  great 
public  displays;  here  Charlemagne  was  received  by 
Adrian  I.,  on  Palm  Sunday,  774,  after  having  ascended 
the  steps  on  his  knees,  kissing  each  step  on  the  way. 
The  Poggia  of  the  Benedictions,  with  its  three  stories  of 
arcades, — which  the  old  views  of  S.  Peter’s  represent  on 
the  right,  on  a corner  of  this  platform  very  near  the  pontif- 
ical palace, — dates  only  from  later  times;  it  was  the  work 
of  Pius  II.,  and  of  his  successors  in  the  last  half  of  the 
fifteenth  century.  On  the  opposite  side,  at  the  left, — that 
is  to  say,  on  the  south, — the  extensive  palace  of  the  arch- 
priest, also  a work  of  the  fifteenth  century,  seems  to  have 
occupied  the  site  of  an  ancient  hospital  for  pilgrims. 

ula’s)  Circus  of  the  Vatican.  It  is  well  known  that  this  obelisk 
was  transported  by  Sixtus  V.  to  its  present  position.  An  inscrip- 
tion on  a stone  in  the  pavement  near  the  present  sacristy  is  in  these 
words:  Sito  dall'  obelisco  fino  all'  anno  MDLXXXVI. 


32 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


In  front  of  the  Basilica,  properly  so  called,  there  was  an 
oblong,  open  court,  the  atrium ,'  extending  from  the  terrace 
as  far  as  the  threshold  of  the  present  church,  beyond  Ma- 
derna’s  vestibule.  The  court  had  suffered  much  from  the 
ravages  of  time  and  the  violence  of  man:  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  sixteenth  century,  it  appeared  shorn  of  the 
splendour  that  it  formerly  had  when  its  interior  was  filled 
with  a profusion  of  symbolic  trees, — palms,  cypresses, 
olive  and  rose-trees, — and  ornamented  on  all  sides  with 
a handsome  Corinthian  portico.  However,  the  western 
row  of  columns  of  the  quadriporticus  was  yet  entire;  op- 
posite, at  the  right  of  the  church  door,  a bell-tower  of  the 
Carlovingian  date  lifted  its  graceful  outline  against  the 
sky,  and  the  famous  cantharus  of  the  centre  never  failed 
to  excite  admiration.  It  was  a magnificent  fountain  sur- 
rounded by  eight  porphyry  columns  and  protected  by  a 
gilded  roof,  with  a great  display  of  dolphins,  peacocks,  and 
dragons  thereon.  A colossal  pine-cone  in  bronze,  reputed 
to  have  been  brought  from  Hadrian’s  mausoleum,  formed 
the  core  for  the  fountain:  Petrus  Mallius,  a canon  of  the 
twelfth  century,  speaks  pertinently  of  a leaden  pipe  intro- 
duced into  this  cone,  and  of  apertures  made  in  its  scales. 
Dante,  to  give  a measure  of  the  formidable  Nimrod,  the 
founder  of  Babylon,  whom  he  encounters  in  the  lowest 
1 The  ancient  Christian  basilica  consisted  of  an  atrium , a nar- 
thex , and  the  church  properly  so  called.  The  atrium  was  a great 
unroofed  court,  with  a fountain  for  lustration  ( cantharus ) in  the 
middle;  in  this  court,  the  “penitents”  remained.  The  narthex , 
a vestibule,  covered,  and  of  much  smaller  dimensions,  was  part 
of  the  church  building,  and  was  appropriated  to  the  catechumens. 
The  Basilica  of  San  Clemente  at  Rome  gives  a perfectly  clear  idea 
of  these  arrangements. 


The  Old  Basilica 


33 


circle  of  the  Inferno,  says  that  the  giant’s  head  appeared 
to  him  “ long  and  large  as  the  pine-cone  of  S.  Peter’s  in 
Rome,  and  the  rest  of  him  to  correspond.”  This  enorm- 
ous mass  of  bronze  remains  to  our  time,  an  embarrassment 
to  archaeologists;  the  pigna  shows  no  trace  of  the  holes 
mentioned  by  Petrus  Malli  us!  Let  us  not  dwell  upon 
this  vexed  topic.  Dante  terminates  his  episode  as  to 
Nimrod,  with  the  imperative  words: 

Lasciamolo  stare  e non  parliamo  a voto. 

Passing  through  the  atrium,  one  entered  the  vestibule 
( narthex );  opposite  were  the  five  doors  which  gave  access 
to  the  Basilica  itself.  The  old  church  occupied  the  space 
which,  in  the  present  building,  lies  between  the  huge 
porphyry  roundel  in  the  floor  (the  rota  porphyretica ) 
and  the  high  altar,  and  in  breadth  it  extended  from 
the  northern  edge  to  the  southern  edge  of  Bramante’s 
piers,  the  extremities  of  its  apse  and  transepts  only 
slightly  exceeding  this  parallelogram.  The  level  of  the 
floor  was  much  lower  than  that  of  the  modern  church, 
being,  in  fact,  that  of  the  sagre  grotte  and  the  floor  of 
the  confessio,  and  the  height  in  the  transept  was  a 
hundred  and  twenty-five  feet.  A hundred  columns, 
partly  granite  and  partly  marble,  in  four  rows,  made  the 
five  naves  which  corresponded  to  the  five  doors.  The 
central  nave,  almost  three  times  as  broad  as  the  others, 
also  surpassed  them  in  height,  owing  to  the  two  lateral 
walls  which  surmounted  the  architrave  of  its  colonnade 
and  supported  the  timbered  roof.  A ro w of  windows  in 
these  walls,  eleven  on  each  side,  lighted  the  interior.  In 
its  general  plan  and  organic  distribution, — nave  and 


34 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


aisles,  triumphal  arch  and  transept,  semicircular  apse, 
crypt,  and  high  altar,— the  edifice  of  Pope  Sylvester  has 
become  the  prototype  of  all  Christian  basilicas;  San 
Paolo  fuori  notably  differed  from  it — I speak  of  the  build- 
ing as  it  was  before  the  fire  of  1823 — only  in  the  entablat- 
ure of  its  columns:  instead  of  an  architrave  they  were 
connected  with  one  another  by  a succession  of  arches, 
lighter  and  more  graceful  in  effect. 

The  tomb  of  the  Prince  of  the  Apostles  still  stands  in 
the  same  place  that  it  has  ever  occupied  on  the  Mons 
Vaticanus  ; this  is  the  one  spot  that  Bramante  and  his 
successors  were  obliged  to  respect.  “This  sepulchre, 
placed  under  the  altar,”  writes  Gregory  of  Tours,  near 
the  close  of  the  sixth  century,  “is  extremely  precious. 
He  who  desires  to  pray  there  opens  the  cancellum  which 
surrounds  it,  and  approaches  the  tomb;  then  setting  open 
the  little fenestrella , he  puts  in  his  head  and  asks  the  favour 
of  which  he  has  need.  The  effect  is  unfailing,  if  only  the 
appropriate  form  of  prayer  has  been  employed.”  The 
Middle  Ages  were  unwearied  in  endowing  this  tomb  and 
the  high  altar  with  all  imaginable  splendour  of  gold  and 
gems;  the  numerous  spoliations  which  the  confessio  suf- 
fered from  Saracen  and  even  from  Christian  hordes  could 
not  discourage  the  generous  piety  of  the  faithful.  Nar- 
ratives of  the  period  are  never  done  dilating  upon  the 
immense  treasures  gathered  in  this  place, — tabernacles, 
ciboria,  crosses,  vases,  candelabra,  cherubs,  and  statues; 
— they  extol  especially  the  magnificence  of  the  enclosure 
of  the  sanctuary,— the  cancelli , mentioned  by  Gregory 
of  Tours,  which  were  made  more  and  more  splendid  by 


The  Old  Basilica 


35 


successive  pontiffs.  We  read  of  a porphyry  balustrade 
surmounted  by  alabaster  columns;  above,  an  architrave  of 
silver,  with  chalices,  fleurs-de-lis,  and  translucent  vases; 
in  the  centre,  an  arcade  surmounted  by  a golden  Christ, 
attended  by  tall  silver  angels.  The  alabaster  columns 
were  twisted,  and  were  surrounded  with  carved  vine 
sprays  and  leaves  ( vitinece ),  and  tradition  asserted  that 
they  came  from  the  temple  of  Solomon  (Herod  ?)  ; a point 
more  certain  is  that  they  gave  the  idea  of  Bernini’s  fright- 
ful baldacchino.  Without  making  any  further  attempt  to 
reconstruct,  from  the  various  and  confused  data  that  come 
down  to  us,  this  famous  chancel  of  S.  Peter’s,  I find  it 
better  to  indicate  to  the  curious  the  sole  pictorial  docu- 
ment which  it  is  possible,  I believe,  to  consult  on  the 
subject, — namely,  the  fresco  of  the  Vatican,  in  the  Hall 
of  Constantine,  which  has  for  its  subject  the  Doiiation  of 
Constantine.  The  scene  takes  place  in  the  old  Basilica;  in 
the  background,  in  front  of  the  tribune  and  the  high  altar, 
there  are  visible  the  twisted  columns,  standing  upon  a 
stylobate  and  supporting  an  architrave  from  which  are  sus- 
pended lamps.  Is  the  reproduction  exact  at  every  point  ? 
This  I should  not  dare  affirm;  but  it  is  the  work  of  Giulio 
Romano  and  his  companions;  it  dates  from  a time  when 
the  chancel  was  yet  standing;  and  at  least  it  should  deter 
our  antiquaries  from  too  fantastic  attempts  at  restorations. 
It  is  also  noteworthy  that  Raffaello  evidently  had  in  mind 
the  vitinece  of  the  balustrade  in  that  one  of  his  arazzi  in 
which  is  represented  the  temple  of  Jerusalem.1 

1 Vatican.  Gallery  of  Tapestries  : S.  Peter  Healing  the  Lame 
Man. 


36 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


Like  all  the  other  episcopal  thrones  of  the  old  churches, 
the  cathedra  Petri  of  the  Vatican — Galla  Placidia  speaks 
of  it  in  a letter  to  Theodosius — was  originally  placed  in 
the  tribune,  behind  the  confessio  and  the  high  altar.  For 
reasons  which  I cannot  explain,  it  was  transferred  from 
one  oratory  to  another  of  the  old  Basilica,  and  only  re- 
sumed its  traditional  place  in  the  new  S.  Peter’s,  where 
Bernini  made  for  it  the  monstrous  covering  which  we  all 
know,  and  which  has  been  but  once  removed  from  it, 
namely,  in  June,  1867,  on  the  centenary  of  the  Apostle. 
I was  at  that  time  in  Rome,  and  had  the  opportunity  of 
seeing  close  at  hand  the  famous  chair,  hidden  from  view 
for  two  centuries.  It  is  a great  sella  gestatoria  of  yellowed 
and  worm-eaten  oak;  the  front  part  of  the  framework  is 
of  black  acacia- wood;  on  the  edge  of  the  back  as  well  as 
on  the  framework  of  the  front  are  little  ivory  fillets  and 
squares,  engraved  or  carved,  representing  contests  of  an- 
imals, struggles  of  centaurs,  the  signs  of  the  Zodiac,  and 
the  twelve  labours  of  Hercules.  The  choice  of  subjects  ap- 
pears singular  for  the  chair  of  S.  Peter;  but  these  decora- 
tions were  evidently  inserted  later,  taken  from  some  cistus , 
or  ancient  piece  of  furniture;  many  of  the  plaques  were 
even  set  in  upside  down,  and  Hercules  executes  certain  of 
his  labours  standing  on  his  head,  with  his  feet  in  the  air! 
Nevertheless  it  is  the  most  ancient  and  the  most  august 
throne  in  the  world;  I feel  there  is  something  lacking  in 
Macaulay’s  famous  exordium  about  the  New  Zealander  of 
the  future  ! 

Lateral  altars  were  added  at  a very  early  date  to  the 
central  high  altar  of  the  confessio  ; in  the  time  of  Julius 


Tapestry  from  Cartoon  by  Raffaello 


J//T.K2XK7  1..KOW  C//KXOOH  HA  ffVJiHVKrrO 


ine  Renaissance 

- il  thrones  of  the  old  churches, . 

iti — ( . Pii  ; ’.in  speaks 

j oins —was  originally  placed  in 
i • io  and  the  high  altar.  For 

lain,  it  was  transferred  from 
her  tji  the  old  Basilica,  and  only  re- 
lace in  the  new  S.  Peter’s,  where 
the  monstrous  covering  which  we  all 
h;  ■;  been  but  once  removed  from  it, 

7 . ou  the  centenary  of  the  Apostle, 
ne,  and  tad  aie  opportunity  of 
.:>• ■:  the  famous  chair,  hidden  from  view 
Iti  a gre  at  sella  y;<  sta  tot  i<  t of  y el  1 owed 
■ ::  o-.k  the  front  part  of  the  framework  is 
on  the  edge  of  the  back  as  well  as 
\ ori.  of  he.  pout  are  little  ivory  fillets  and 

c<  i itests  of  an* 

■ ..  . U;.:  -:'.e  signs  of  th-  Zodiac,  and 

v*  eive  labours  of  Hercules.  The  choice  of  subjects  ap- 
ular  for  the  chair  of  S.  Peter;  but  these  decùra- 
. Ij  inserted  later,  taken  from  some  n'stus, 

do  u ; l Hercules  executes  certain  of 
aiding  on  bis  head,  with  his  feet  in  the  air! 
is  ost  ancient  and  the  most  august 

the  world;  1 feel  there  is  something  lacking  in 
- lamous  exordium  about  the  New  Zealander  of 

. . r.Z*  altars  were  added  at  a very  early  date  to  the 
high  altar  ui  ìe  con  ft  sio\  in  the  time  of  Julius 


! 


The  Old  Basilica 


37 


II.  there  had  come  to  be  twenty;  of  these  the  most 
famous  were  the  oratories  consecrated  to  the  four  1 ‘ great 
relics”  that  are  now  within  the  four  piers  of  the  dome. 
It  is  singular  to  note  that  two  of  these  ‘‘great  relics” 
were  deposited  in  S.  Peter’s  only  near  the  close  of  the  fif- 
teenth century,  and  by  hands  most  profane:  a schismatic 
Palaeologos,  a fugitive  tyrant  of  the  Morea,  brought  to 
Rome  in  1461  the  skull  of  S.  Andrew;  and  the  Sacred 
Spear  was  a gift  from  the  Sultan  Bajazet,  the  son  of  him 
who  conquered  Constantinople!  On  the  other  hand,  the 
oratory  of  the  Holy  Cross,  and  the  altar  of  the  Santo  Volto, 
date  respectively  from  the  sixth  and  the  seventh  century. 
Having  reached  the  highest  circle  of  the  Paradiso,  in  the 
presence  of  the  white  rose  of  the  sacred  army,  beholding 
Beatrice  and  S.  Bernard,  Dante  exclaims  : ‘‘I  was  like 
him  who,  coming  from  the  confines  of  Croatia,  to  look 
upon  our  Veronica  cannot  satisfy  his  eyes  with  the  sight 
of  a glory  so  ancient,  and  says  to  himself  incessantly: 

‘ Such  were  Thy  features,  then,  O Christ,  my  Lord  and 
true  God  ! ’ ” From  the  Veronica  yiostra,  popular  devotion 
has  since  transferred  itself  to  the  bronze  statue  of  the 
Apostle,  well  known  in  our  day,  but  in  the  Middle  Ages 
very  far  from  enjoying  ‘‘so  ancient  a glory”;  in  the 
beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century  it  was  not  yet  in  the 
Vatican  Church.1 

The  great  tomb  of  the  confessio  had  its  accompanying 

1 It  was  to  be  seen  in  the  church  of  S.  Martin,  west  of  the  Vati- 
can. The  Pietà  of  Michelangelo,  which  dates  from  1499,  was 
originally  deposited  in  the  church  of  Santa  Petronilla  ; it  has 
occupied  its  present  place  only  since  1749. 


38 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


train,  its  immense  funereal  cortège.  Of  the  two  hundred 
and  fifty  pontiffs  who,  up  to  the  time  of  Julius  II.,  had 
followed  one  another  on  S.  Peter’s  throne,  ninety-two  re- 
posed upon  the  plateau  of  the  Vatican,  which,  since  the 
fifth  century,  had  become  the  usual  Campo  Santo  of  the 
Popes.  From  the  outside  edge  of  the  atrium  the  tombs 
had,  in  time,  extended  into  the  vestibule,  had  penetrated 
the  church  itself,  filling  the  aisles  and  the  great  nave; 
and  they  formed  a monumental  history  of  the  most  com- 
plete and  impressive  kind.1  At  first,  with  simple  tum- 
ulary  stones,  rude,  flat  flags;  then,  stone  chests  imitating 
the  form  of  a sarcophagus;  finally,  real  sarcophagi,  some 
borrowed  from  earlier  Christian  tombs,  others  from  the 
pagan  epoch,  and  adapted  as  best  could  be;  on  all  work  of 
the  period  very  little  ornamentation;  the  inscriptions,  the 
most  attractive  feature,  in  a rough,  barbaric  Batin,  sin- 
gularly vigorous  and  expressive. 

By  degrees  the  marble  grows  animated,  takes  shape:  a 
figure  is  seen,  lying  at  full  length  od  the  lid  of  the 
sarcophagus,  invested  with  stole  and  chasuble,  the  head 
crowned  with  the  tiara  and  resting  gently  upon  a pillow, 
the  hands  always  gloved,  crossed  upon  the  breast,  the 
right  over  the  left,  and  outside  the  glove,  on  the  middle 
finger  of  the  hand,  a large  ring  with  projecting  stone,  the 
Pfisherman’s  Ring.  The  art  of  the  Cosmati  employs 

1 Observe  the  tombs  of  Gregory  V.,  Adrian  IV.,  and  Boniface 
VIII.,  in  the  grotte  Vaticane  ; of  Honorius  IV.,  in  the  Savelli 
chapel,  at  Ara  Cceli  ; of  Nicholas  V.  in  the  sagre  grotte  ; those 
of  Sixtus  IV.  and  Innocent  Vili,  in  S.  Peter’s  ; those  of  Pius  II. 
and  Paul  II.  at  San  Andrea  della  Valle.  All  these  monuments 
were  originally  in  old  S.  Peter’s. 


The  Old  Basilica 


39 


itself  for  many  generations  on  this  simple  and  beautiful 
theme;  often  it  rears  an  elegant  canopy  above  the  sarco- 
phagus and  adorns  its  mouldings  and  colonnettes  with 
strips  of  mosaic  in  gilt  glass  and  tiny  coloured  stones. 
Then,  suddenly,  an  interruption,  a long  gap, — the  exile 
of  Avignon  and  the  Great  Schism;  and  when  the  chain 
of  sepulchres  is  again  united,  after  a break  of  more  than 
a century,  the  face  of  the  world  is  changed  as  if  by  en- 
chantment, and  the  Renaissance  arrives,  to  proclaim  the 
joy  of  living,  and  a worship  of  antiquity  even  in  this 
sombre  papal  necropolis!  How  many  exquisite  works,  at 
first;  but,  also,  how  many  signs  of  danger!  A Theology, 
as  the  goddess  Diana  with  her  arrows  and  quiver,  on  the 
tomb  of  Sixtus  IV.,  already  inaugurates  one  of  the  most 
fatal  aberrations  of  the  age  of  Leo  X.  ; a cenotaph  of 
Pius  II.,  monstrous  in  proportions  and  in  arrogance, 
already  prepares  the  way  for  the  gigantic  project  of 
Buonarroti  which  shall  pull  down  the  Basilica  itself. 

Why  do  certain  distinguished  authors  make  it  so  much 
a point,  then,  to  depreciate  the  church  of  Pope  Sylvester, 
to  esteem  it  a building  necessarily  without  merit,  without 
character,  quite  suited  to  an  epoch  of  profound  decadence  ? 

Profound,  however,  as  was  the  decadence  of  the  other 
arts  at  the  Constantinian  epoch,  architecture  could  still 
do  grand  and  powerful  things;  the  Baths  of  Diocletian, 
and  the  Basilica  of  Constantine  (of  Maxentius,  in  truth) 
were  models  even  in  their  ruins  for  the  genius  of  a 
Michelangelo  and  a Bramante.1  A very  ancient  legend, 

1 1 call  attention  to  the  curious  passage  in  Raffaello’ s “Report” 
to  Leo  X.  upon  the  monuments  of  Rome  : “And  although  liter- 


40 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


reproduced  in  the  Stanze  1 by  the  pupils  of  Raffaello,  re- 
lates that  the  Emperor  Constantine,  with  his  own  hands 
laboured  on  the  foundations  of  S.  Peter’s,  loading  and 
carrying  out  twelve  basketfuls  of  earth,  in  memory  of  the 
Twelve  Apostles.  It  cannot  be  supposed  that  he  neglected, 
at  any  rate,  to  have  the  best  architects  of  the  time  em- 
ployed upon  the  building.  Nor  were  they,  indeed,  medi- 
ocre minds, — these  men  who  were  the  first  to  adapt  the 
forms  of  the  profane  basilica — at  once  market,  exchange, 
and  tribunal— to  the  entirely  new  demands  of  a cult  in 
the  highest  degree  spiritual.  The  conception  was  so  mas- 
terly, so  successful,  that  it  has,  in  principle  and  up  to 
our  own  time,  prevailed  in  all  religious  edifices.  Doubt- 
less the  execution,  in  detail,  in  ornamentation,  in  matters 
really  in  the  province  of  sculpture,  was  very  defective,  and 
suffered  from  the  general  decay  of  all  plastic  feeling.  The 
hundred  columns  of  the  interior  of  the  old  Basilica  were 
probably,  all  or  part  of  them,  brought  from  other  build- 
ings, the  capitals  were  of  different  styles,  and  of  very 
unequal  size  and  value;  but  this  forest  of  a hundred  mono- 
liths could  not  have  failed  to  be  most  impressive  and  im- 
posing. Think  of  the  effect  which  is  produced  by  this 
feature  of  San  Paolo  fuori , notwithstanding  the  whole  as- 

ature,  sculpture,  and  almost  all  the  other  arts  continued  to  decline 
and  gro^v  worse  until  the  period  of  the  last  Emperors,  nevertheless 
architecture  remained  and  was  preserved  con  buona  ragione , and 
men  continued  to  build  as  they  had  built . before  ; of  all  the  arts 
this  was  the  last  to  perish.”  And  he  quotes,  as  an  example,  the 
Baths  of  Diocletian  and  the  Arch  of  Constantine  (from  the  point 
of  view  of  construction,  of  course). 

1 Vatican,  Hall  of  Constantine,  at  the  right,  under  the  fresco  of 
the  Baptism. 


The  Old  Basilica 


41 


pect  of  that  church  is  so  deplorably  modern;  notwith- 
standing the  loud  tone  of  its  ornamentation,  the  glitter 
and  reflection  of  its  ceiling,  its  pavement,  and  its  marbles! 
The  timbered  roof,  the  opus  Alexandrinum  of  the  pave- 
ment, the  materials  themselves  already  worn  with  age, 
must  very  early  have  softened  the  interior  of  the  Vatican 
Church,  must  have  given  it  an  atmosphere — I might 
almost  say  a harmonious  patina — that  the  profusion  of 
paintings  and  of  hangings  (vela)  would  render  still  more 
intense.  The  colossal  figure  of  the  Christ  Enthroned, 
giving  His  benediction,  the  symbolic  Eamb  and  the 
Rivers  of  Paradise,  with  stories  from  the  Old  and  New 
Testaments  and  scenes  from  the  lives  of  the  Apostles, 
covered  the  hemicycle  of  the  apse,  the  broad  surfaces  of 
the  triumphal  arch,  and  the  high  walls  of  the  great  nave; 
the  decoration  extended  to  the  narthex  and  the  atrium, 
Giotto’s  Navicella  shining  in  the  interior  of  this  court,  on 
the  eastern  side,  above  the  main  entrance.  I like  to  fancy 
the  aspect  of  this  church, — with  its  orientation  to  the 
west,  like  most  of  the  churches  of  the  early  time, — I like 
to  figure  it  to  myself  during  the  Missa  solemnis,  especially 
at  the  moment  of  the  elevation  of  the  Host,  all  the  doors 
being  then  wide  open,  and  the  sunlight  falling  full 
upon  the  refulgent  chancel  and  high  altar,  and  upon  the 
sombre  mosaics  of  the  tribune  and  the  triumphal  arch:  it 
is  as  if  upon  the  naves  of  San  Paolo  fuori  there  fell  that 
peculiar  golden,  blurred  light  of  the  interior  of  San  Marco 
in  Venice. 

This  was  the  moment  also  when  the  crowd  of  penitents, 
outside  in  the  atrium  under  Giotto’s  Navicella , began 


42 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


to  move  slowly  forward  towards  the  confessio.  They 
walked  along  a road  of  monuments,  a Christian  Via  Appia 
bordered  with  tombs,  and  on  these  tombs  they  read  the 
names  of  Leo  I.,  of  Gregory  I.,  of  Adrian  I.,  and  a hund- 
red  other  pontiffs,  down  to  Boniface  VIII.,1  Nicholas 
V.,  and  Julius  II. ’s  immediate  predecessor.  The  ancient 
Emperors  Honorius  and  Valentinian  III.,  Junius  Bassus 
of  the  great  family  of  the  Anicii,  Prefect  of  Rome,  the 
German  Emperor  Otho  II.,  the  Anglo-Saxon  kings  Caed- 
walla  and  Offa,  also  had  their  tombs  here,  for  it  was  a 
time  when  the  powerful  of  the  earth  aspired  ardently  to 
the  honour  of  burial  in  the  Campo  Santo  of  the  Vatican. 
How  many  things  all  these  names  must  have  said  to  the 
penitent,  the  pilgrim,  “ from  the  remote  confines  of 
Croatia”  ! They  recalled  barbaric  invasions  followed  by 
miraculous  barbaric  conversions  to  Christianity, — the 
wars  of  the  Crusades,  the  outrages  of  the  Hohenstaufen 
and  the  Capetian;  the  restoration  of  empire  by  Leo  III., 
the  restoration  of  letters  by  Nicholas  V.  ; the  struggles, 
the  trials,  and  the  triumphs  of  the  Church.  That  frieze 
of  medallions  along  the  architrave  of  the  great  nave 
was  the  unbroken  line  of  the  successors  of  S.  Peter;  this 
disk  of  red  stone  on  which  he  knelt,  was  the  rota  por- 
phyretica  where  emperors,  on  their  coronation-day,  had 

1 The  tomb  of  Gregory  VII.  was  lacking  at  S.  Peter’s  ; he  lies 
buried  at  Salerno:  “I  have  loved  righteousness  and  hated 

iniquity;  therefore  I die  in  exile”  ( Dilexi  justitiam  et  odivi 
iniquitatem,  propterea  morior  in  exilio ).  And,  singular  fact,  the 
name  of  Gregory  VII.  is  lacking  also  in  the  great  poem  of  Dante, 
who  makes  mention  neither  of  Hildebrand  nor  of  the  Emperor 
Henry  IV.! 


The  Old  Basilica 


43 


recited  the  Creed,  and  received  the  benediction  of  the 
cardinal-bishop.  Many  an  oratory,  sculpture,  mosaic, 
and  ex-voto,  bore  the  inscription  of  the  Othos,  of 
Charlemagne,  or  of  Constantine;  every  age,  every  hero 
of  Christendom  had  left  some  trace  within  these  walls; 
from  every  stone  spoke  the  great  voice  of  history,  mirum 
spargens  sonum,  per  sepulchra  regionum. 

Of  these  oratories,  tombs,  sculptures,  and  inscriptions, 
we  possess  to-day  only  miserable  débris,  scattered  and 
mutilated  fragments;  and  one  learns  with  amazement 
what  transformations  have  been  undergone  by  this  or  that 
noble  piece  of  the  great  wreck  of  Pope  Sylvester’s  church. 
The  beams  of  its  roof,  we  are  told,  were  used  in  the  tim- 
ber-work of  the  Farnese  palace;  the  four  monoliths  of 
Egyptian  granite  which  stood  at  the  doors  of  the  atrium 
went  to  adorn  the  facade  of  the  Acqua  Paola;  the  famous 
pine-cone  of  the  cantharus  and  its  two  bronze  peacocks 
are  now  in  the  nicchione  of  the  Vatican  Garden;  and  eight 
of  the  famous  columns  of  the  confessio  are  built  into  the 
rococo  balconies,  which,  in  S.  Peter’s,  deface  Bramante’s 
four  colossal  piers.  Stranger  still  were  the  destinies  of 
the  tomb  of  the  Emperor  Otho  II.  The  ancient  sarco- 
phagus which  held  the  mortal  remains  of  the  young  mon- 
arch until  1609 — the  year  when  the  last  part  of  the  old 
Basilica  was  torn  down — was  afterwards  changed  into  a 
fountain  to  adorn  the  Cortile  of  the  Quirinal  Palace;  and 
its  superb  lid,  a colossal  mass  of  red  porphyry,  now  in- 
verted, is  the  baptismal  font  of  S.  Peter’s,  in  the  first 
chapel  on  the  left  of  the  entrance.  Eet  it  be  noted  also 
that  this  same  porphyry  lid  came  from  Hadrian’s  mauso- 


44 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


leum,  and  had  probably  sheltered  the  ashes  of  that 
ultrapagan  prince!  As  an  example  of  the  amazing  meta- 
morphoses which  Rome  alone  can  display,  the  good  Am- 
père liked  to  mention  this  baptismal  basin,  to  which  were 
attached  the  names  of  the  friend  of  Antinoiis,  of  a mys- 
tical Kaiser,  and  of  an  infinity  of  Transteverine  babies! 
Among  the  best-known  fragments  from  old  S.  Peter’s  to 
which  the  new  gave  shelter,  it  is  superfluous  to  mention 
the  Navicella , and  the  ciborium  of  Giotto  (this  latter,  in 
the  sacristy),  Filarete’s  bronze  doors  (at  whose  side,  high 
upon  the  wall  of  the  facade,  may  be  read  Charlemagne’s 
long  and  beautiful  inscription  in  honour  of  Pope  Adrian, 
perhaps  the  composition  of  Alcuin),  and  the  bronze  mau- 
solea  of  Sixtus  IV.  and  of  Innocent  VIII.  ; as  for  the 
most  celebrated  of  the  Quattrocento  pontifical  tombs,  that 
of  Nicholas  V.,  its  fragments — with  so  many  other  pre- 
cious and  horribly  mutilated  monuments — since  1609  lie 
scattered  over  the  ground  of  these  sagre  grotte  Vaticane , 
which  form,  as  it  were,  a second  basilica  under  the  upper 
church,  visited  by  torchlight,  like  another  Herculaneum. 

A strange  Plerculaneum,  and  the  more  touching,  be- 
cause the  ruins  here  testify  to  the  fury,  not  at  all  of  the 
elements,  but  of  men;  and  of  men  who  in  so  many  re- 
spects are  our  superiors,  and  are  to  this  day  our  teachers! 
How  could  it  have  been  possible  that  in  an  age  so  en- 
lightened, at  a time  when  every  bit  of  antique  marble  was 
piously  treasured,  and  when  Raffaello  addressed  to  Leo  X. 
his  famous  “ Report  upon  the  Preservation  and  Restora- 
tion of  the  Monuments  of  Rome,” — how  could  it  have 
been  possible  that,  at  that  very  moment,  with  deliberate 


The  Old  Basilica 


45 


intent,  there  were  broken  up  and  destroyed  so  many 
monuments  — splendid,  venerable,  or  sacred— of  the 
ancient  Basilica  of  S.  Peter  ? This  question  vexes  me, 
whenever  I visit  the  sagre  grotte  : to-day  again  it  besets 
me,  in  presence  of  the  magnificent  tombs  of  Junius  Bassus 
and  of  Boniface  VIII., — of  the  curious  mosaic  of  the 
seventh-century  altar  of  the  Santo  Volto, — of  the  inscrip- 
tion of  S.  Damasus,  the  restorer  of  the  catacombs, — and  of 
Matilda,  “ the  great  donor.”  It  was  curious  to  read,  among 
the  very  oldest  of  these  inscriptions,  one  by  Gregory  III. 
(733)  against  ‘‘the  destroyers  of  statues  and  images.” 
Coming  up  from  these  crypts,  and  before  leaving  the 
Leonine  City,  I halted  for  a few  minutes  in  the  Vatican 
Library,  in  the  salone  which  Domenico  Fontana  built  in 
a year’s  time,—  'which,  also,  a hundred  painters,  under 
the  direction  of  Cesare  Nebbie  da  Orvieto  and  Guerrio 
da  Modena,  forthwith  covered  with  frescos  from  top  to 
bottom.  The  frescos  are  poor;  but  some  of  those  above 
the  doors  and  windows  are  still  interesting  to  persons 
curious  in  such  matters  because  they  present  views  of 
Rome  near  the  close  of  the  sixteenth  century.  The 
painting  of  the  coronation  of  Sixtus  V.  specially  merits 
attention;  it  represents  the  Piazza  di  San  Pietro  in  1585. 
At  the  right  is  the  Vatican  Palace;  then  the  great  terrace 
at  the  top  of  the  steps  with  the  Loggia  of  the  Benedictions; 
behind  this  (but  inside  the  atrium)  rises  the  campanile  of 
Leo  IV.;  on  the  opposite  side,  at  the  south,  extends  the 
palace  of  the  arch-priest,  and  very  near  this,  a little  in  the 
rear  and  beyond  the  terrace  is  the  guglia , still  in  its 
original  site.  The  central  space,  between  the  palace  of 


46 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


the  arch-priest  and  the  Loggia,  is  occupied  by  the  three 
doors  which  give  access  to  the  atrium;  above  these  doors 
appears  in  perspective  the  facade  of  the  Basilica,  with  an 
immense  rose-window  and  a cross  where  the  two  cornices 
meet.  An  innumerable  multitude  on  foot  and  on  horse- 
back fills  the  piazza,  looking  on  at  the  coronation  which 
takes  place  on  the  terrace  in  front  of  the  atrium,  upon  a 
stately  platform  surmounted  by  a baldacchino.  So  far  all 
remains  unchanged  from  the  centuries  preceding;  the 
solemnity  occurs  in  the  accustomed  place,  and  the  aspect 
is  scarcely  altered  since  the  days  of  Charlemagne  and  the 
Hohenstaufens.  But  yonder,  far  off,  in  the  background 
of  the  picture,  on  the  very  edge  of  the  scene,  a round, 
gigantic  tower  rises,  like  a menacing  shadow  in  the  ho- 
rizon. It  is  not  completed;  it  shows  only  windows  sep- 
arated by  coupled  columns,  and  it  is  roofless:  it  is  the 
drum  of  that  dome  whose  wooden  model  Michelangelo 
had  left  at  his  death,  and  whose  completion  Sixtus  V. 
ordered  without  further  delay.  The  tower,  though  in- 
complete, dominates  and  crushes  Basilica,  terrace,  and 
piazza,  la  terra  Christiana  tutta  aduggia. 1 The  construc- 
tion inaugurated  by  Bramante  had  gone  on,  the  century 
through,  slowly,  gradually,  enveloping  with  its  formidable 
piers  Pope  Sylvester’s  church  ; already  the  adjacent  edifices 
and  chapels  have  been  swept  away;  in  twenty-five  years 
from  the  date  of  which  we  are  speaking  (1585),  the  final  blow 
will  be  struck,  and,  last  of  all,  the  atrium  will  fall  before 
Maderna’s  pickaxe.  The  new  Basilica  will  destroy  the  old. 

1 Leo  Alberti  had  already  said  of  Brunelleschi’s  dome:  Ampia 
da  coprire  con  sua  ombra  tutti  i populi  toscani. 


CHAPTER  IV 


THE  STATUE  AT  BOLOGNA  (1506-1507) 

On  the  26th  of  August,  150Ó,  four  months  after  laying 
the  first  stone  of  the  new  Vatican  Basilica,  Julius  II. 
quitted  Rome  at  the  head  of  an  army,  and  began  his 
career  as  a conqueror:  “ Leaving,”  as  says,  shortly  after, 
the  French  contemporary  chronicler,  “ S.  Peter’s  chair 
to  assume  the  title  of  Mars,  the  god  of  battles,  to  display 
his  triple  crown  on  the  field,  and  to  sleep  under  a tent; 
and  God  knows  how  fair  to  behold  in  the  field  were  his 
mitres,  his  crosses,  and  his  crucifixes!  ” 

The  success  of  this  first  campaign  — or  “crusade,”  as 
he  himself  called  it,  speaking  to  Macchiavelli  — is 
astonishingly  rapid.  Giampolo  Baglioni,  the  sanguinary 
tyrant  of  Perugia,  who  has  never  recoiled  before  any 
danger  or  any  crime,  now  suddenly  is  affrighted,  hastens 
to  meet  Julius  II.  at  Orvieto,  surrenders  his  fortified  city, 
and  begs  only  to  be  admitted  among  the  followers  of  the 
Pope.  At  Bologna  the  same  panic  seizes  the  aged  Giov- 
anni Bentivoglio,  surrounded  by  his  valiant  family  and 
his  numerous  vassals  and  armed  men.  He  escapes  to  the 
French  camp  of  Maréchal  Chaumont,  and  the  city  wel- 
comes with  frenzied  delight  the  “Pope-Liberator.”  Julius 
II.  enters  Bologna,  the  ancient  Felsina,  “ like  another 
Julius  Caesar,”  in  a huge  chariot,  a purple  canopy  above 


47 


48 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


his  head.  Still  more  classic  is  the  homage  paid  him  by 
the  Romans,  on  his  return  some  months  later.  The  a?rus 
Domitia?ii  upon  the  Corso  (at  that  time  still  standing)  “ is 
so  splendidly  decorated  with  statues  and  pictures,”  says 
Albertini,  the  quasi-official  historiographer,  “ that  one 
would  think  Domitian  himself  had  returned,  to  triumph 
anew.”  Near  the  Castle  of  Sant’  Angelo,  the  gilded  oak- 
tree  of  the  Rovere  rises  from  the  centre  of  a globe,  lifting 
its  branches  to  the  height  of  Santa  Maria  Transpontina; 
and,  from  a quadriga  with  white  horses,  winged  genii 
present  palms  to  the  victorious  pontiff.  The  greatest  hu- 
manist of  the  age,  who  at  that  time  was  travelling  in 
Italy,  witnessed  these  scenes:  notwithstanding  his  ardent 
love  for  antiquity,  Erasmus  of  Rotterdam  cannot  conceal 
his  profound  surprise  (non  sine  tacite  genitu  spectabam')  to 
see  the  Successor  of  the  Apostles  surrounded  with  so 
pagan  a display. 

While  Julius  II.  was  thus  giving  the  world  the  extra- 
ordinary spectacle  of  a Pope  conquering  like  Caesar, 
triumphing  like  Domitian,  Michelangelo,  having  escaped 
from  Rome  and  taken  refuge  in  Tuscan}^,  was  occupied 
wTith  no  less  an  idea  than  that  of  quitting  Italy  altogether 
and  going  to  take  service  with  the  Grand  Turk! 

“Giuliano,” — Buonarroti  wrote,  May  2,  1506, 1 two 
weeks  after  his  extraordinary  flight  from  Rome,  to  the 
architect  Giuliano  da  Sangallo,  and  enjoined  him  to  show 
the  words  to  the  pontiff  himself, — “ I learn  from  your 
letter  that  the  Pope  has  taken  my  departure  very  ill,  and 
that  his  Holiness  is  disposed  to  act  and  to  pay  as  was 
1 Letter  of  Michelangelo,  ed.  Milanesi,  p.  377. 


Portrait  of  Michelangelo  (Artist  Unknown) 


43 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


his  head.  Still  classic  is  the  ho  : paid  him  by 

the  Roman;  , return  some  months  later.  The  arcus 

Doni  ' : Corso  (at  that  tino.-  • aiding)  “ is 

so  ' rated  with  statues  f ■ ores,”  says 

. quasi-official  historiog-  - that  one 
mitian  himself  had  r to  triumph 

, r the  Castle  of  Sant’  A ■ ».  t : ■ tided  oak- 

e Rovere  rises  from  the  cei  1 1 i lobe,  lifting 

. t;es  to  the  height  of  Santa  mspontina; 

:om  a quadriga  with  white  w.*  winged  genii 
•eii t palms  to  the  victorious  pont  The  greatest  ha- 
st of  the  age,  who  at  that  tit  «■  JR  • «veiling  in 
y.  witnessed  these  scenes:  notvvi;  it.  ■*&'■  g his  ardent 
for  antiquity,  Erasmus  of  Rotti  « mi  ìot  conceal 
profound  surprise  (non  sine  tacit ■ l't-auiòam)  to 

the  Successor  of  the  Apostles  grounded  with  so 
in  a display. 

: ile  Julius  II.  was  thus  giving  t WOtld  the  extra- 
v spectacle  of  a Pope  comi  ' 4»!  like  Csesar, 
iike  Domitian,  Michelangelo,  haring  escaped 
and  taken  refuge  in  Tuscan:  . was  occupied 
• iea  than  that  of  qn  ting  ’ »ly  altogether 
■ ike  service  with  the  Grand  Turk! 

• ’—Buonarroti  wrote,  M.»\  1506,1  two 

■.is  extraordinary  flight  from  Home,  to  the 
siano  da  Sangallo,  and  enjoined  him  to  show 
: ;■•  the  pontiff  himself, — " 1 learn  troni  your 

letter  tn  u he  Pope  has  taken  my  departure  very  ill,  and 
. v - H liiness  is  disposed  to  act  an  t » pay  as  was 
1 letter  of  Michelangeli?,  ed.  Milanesi,  p.  377. 


(xv/oxxy.U  T3itmA)  ojhozajhhoiE  -io  tiahthoST 


l'K?? 


' 


The  Statue  at  Bologna  (1506—1507)  49 

agreed,  and  that  I may  return  without  any  fear.  It  is 
only  too  true  that  on  Holy  Saturday  I heard  the  Pope 
say, — he  was  at  table  and  was  talking  with  his  jewellers 
and  his  master  of  ceremonies — that  he  would  never  again 
spend  a baiocco  for  stones,  small  or  great.  This  did  not  a 
little  surprise  me;  however,  before  going  away,  I asked 
for  the  money  necessary  to  continue  the  work,  and  his 
Holiness  replied  that  I should  come  again  on  Monday. 
On  Monday  I came,  Tuesday,  Wednesday  also,  and 
Thursday,  as  he  well  knew;  finally,  on  Friday  morning, 
I was  sent  away,  driven  away,  and  he  who  did  it  said  that 
he  knew  me  well,  but  that  he  had  orders.  Thus  it  hap- 
pened that,  having  heard  the  words  spoken  on  Saturday 
and  having  thus  seen  their  effect,  I was  seized  with 
despair.  ’ ’ 

Was  the  artist  justified  in  taking  to  himself  words  said 
about  “stones,  small  or  great”;  also  was  he  right  in 
coming  day  after  day  in  Easter  week  to  claim  his  money  ? 
I should  not  dare  affirm  it;  and  the  rest  of  the  letter  seems 
to  me  to  leave  no  doubt  as  to  the  morbid  excitement  of 
Michelangelo  at  this  period,  an  actual  condition  of  hallu- 
cination. “This,  however,”  he  continues,  “is  not  the 
sole  cause  of  my  departure;  there  was  still  another  thing, 
about  which  I am  not  willing  to  write.  It  is  enough  to 
say  that  I had  reason  to  believe  that  if  I remained  in 
Rome,  my  tomb  would  be  ready  much  before  the  Pope’s; 
and  it  was  this  which  was  the  cause  of  ray  sudden  depart- 
ure.” What  does  this  mean?  Did  he  fear  Bramante’s 
poignard,  or  was  it  some  mysterious  plot  framed  by  the 

Vatican  people  ? At  a later  day,  however,  he  who  wrote 

4 


50 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


this  letter  full  of  foolish  fears  was  to  return  to  Rome  and 
pass  more  than  half  his  life  there,  without  the  least 
disaster! 

Nor,  indeed,  is  this  the  only  time  when  we  see  this 
great  genius  impelled  by  chimerical  terrors  to  extreme 
and  inexplicable  resolutions.  In  1494  he  takes  flight  on 
the  approach  of  Charles  VIII.  for  the  reason  that  a lute- 
player  relates  to  him  a mysterious  dream.  In  1529  he 
takes  flight  while  directing  the  fortification  of  besieged 
Florence,  abandoning  his  post  in  presence  of  the  enemy 
on  a warning  from  “ some  one  who  from  the  neighbour- 
hood of  the  Porta  San  Niccolò,  whether  sent  b}?  God  or 
by  the  devil  I know  not,”  he  frankly  communicates  to  his 
friend  Battista  della  Palla!’  The  Roman  episode  in 
April,  1506,  belongs  evidently  in  this  same  category  of 
the  vagaries  of  Buonarroti’s  vexed  and  gloomy  soul. 

I feel  obliged  also  to  class  with  these  vagaries  the 
strange  interpretation  that  he  always  put  upon  the  Pope’s 
proposition  in  regard  to  the  Sistine  Chapel.  It  was 
Bramante,  he  said  (and  he  affirmed  it  again  in  his  old 
age),  who  perfidiously  insinuated  this  scheme  into  the 
mind  of  Julius  II.  ; a snare  was  laid  for  him,  in  thus  giv- 
ing to  the  sculptor  a painter’s  task;  a foreseen  and  desired 
failure  was  thus  prepared  for  him.  He  had,  however, 
himself,  and  of  his  own  free  will,  as  early  as  1504,  before 
the  Roman  expedition,  before  any  perfidie  of  Bramante, 
challenged  the  greatest  painter  of  the  time, — composing, 
in  competition  with  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  his  famous  car- 
toon of  the  War  of  Pisa.  This  cartoon  had  excited  the 
1 Lettere , p.  457. 


The  Statue  at  Bologna  (1506-1507)  51 


world’s  admiration;  it  was  at  that  very  moment  the  great 
school  in  which  all  young  painters  were  training  them- 
selves; Vasari  enumerates  Ridolfo  Ghirlaudajo,  Andrea 
del  Sarto,  Francia  Bigio,  Pontormo,  and  a certain  pupil 
of  Perugino,  by  name  Raffaello  Santi.  Verily,  no  Satanic 
intrigue  was  needed  to  suggest  to  the  Rovere  that  the 
author  of  the  War  of  Pisa,  for  the  Hall  of  the  Great 
Council  in  the  Palazzo  Vecchio,  might  be  very  well  able 
to  place  some  masterpiece  of  painting  upon  the  splendid 
vault  of  the  Sistina. 

Julius  II.,  as  is  well  known,  made  repeated  attempts  to 
bring  back  the  artist  to  his  studio  in  Rome,  first,  by  ap- 
peals to  Michelangelo  himself;  then,  through  the  Floren- 
tine Signory  and  the  gonfalonier  Soderini.  The  Cardinal 
of  Pavia,  Alidosi,  an  all-powerful  favourite  with  the 
Rovere,  and  likewise  a great  admirer  of  Michelangelo, 
employs  himself  zealously  in  negotiations.  Nothing 
comes  of  it:  Buonarroti  still  remains  indignant  and 
frightened — impaurito , as  Soderini  says  in  a letter  to  the 
Pope,  and  one  day  the  gonfalonier  learns  that  the  artist  is 
negotiating  with  the  Sultan,  Bajazet  II.,  through  the 
mediation  of  the  Franciscan  monks:  he  would  build  a 
bridge  at  Pera!  And  why  not  ? Was  not  Gentile  Bellini 
the  court  painter  of  the  conqueror  of  Constantinople  ? 
Did  he  not  return  “ with  magnificent  gifts  and  the  rank 
of  knighthood,”  and  proudty  thereafter  sign  his  pictures: 
Eques  auratus  comesque  palatinus  ? Vittore  Carpaccio 
probably  also  resided  for  a certain  time  in  the  Fast,  find- 
ing there  the  models  for  the  turbaned  crowds  which 
amuse  us  so  much  in  his  delicious  Venetian  pictures. 


52 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


The  most  varied  genius  of  this  great  epoch,  the  “ divine  ” 
Leonardo  da  Vinci,  had  more  than  once  the  idea  of  going 
to  take  service  with  the  Grand  Seignior,  and  offering  the 
Turk  his  profound  inventions  in  mechanics  and  the  sci- 
ence of  war.  Among  the  very  rare  works  which  have 
come  down  to  us  from  the  sculptor  Bertoldo,  Michel- 
angelo’s master  in  the  Medicean  Garden,  there  is  a medal 
in  honour  of  Mahomet  II.  These  keen  intellects  of  the 
Renaissance,  it  is  evident,  were  very  far  from  feeling  for 
the  infidel,  for  the  iconoclast,  that  repugnance  which  we 
should  naturally  attribute  to  them.  One’s  thoughts 
linger,  strangely  moved  and  variously  agitated,  never- 
theless, upon  this  fantastic  hypothesis  of  a Buonarroti 
transported  suddenly  to  the  Bosporos, — reconstructing, 
perhaps,  the  Ay  a Sofia,  instead  of  S.  Peter’s  Basilica; 
and,  in  default  of  Vittoria  Colonna,  seeking  out,  late  in 
life,  some  mufti  or  dervish  with  whom  to  discuss  the  grave 
problems  of  existence  ! 

“Here,  chalices  are  made  into  swords  and  helmets;  the  cross 
and  the  thorns  become  lances  and  shields  ; and  Christ’s'  blood  is 
sold  by  the  spoonful.  He  will  never  come  again  to  these  countries 
watered  with  His  sweat,  this  Rome,  which  traffics  in  His  skin,  and 
the  ways  of  salvation  are  henceforth  closed  ! If  ever  I had  desired 
to  possess  wealth,  all  work  is  now  snatched  from  me,  and  that 
man  in  the  cloak , like  a Medusa,  has  changed  me  into  inert  stone  ! 
Up  there  in  Heaven,  poverty  is  welcomed,  they  say,  but  how  can 
one  hope  for  that  better  life,  being  led  to  it  under  standards  like 
these  ! ” 

Thus  is  conceived  a sonnet  found  among  the  posthum- 
ous papers  of  Michelangelo,  written  entirely  by  his  own 
hand.  I cannot  understand  how  it  is  possible  that  there 


The  Statue  at  Bologna  (1506-1507)  53 

should  have  been,  up  to  this  day,  a mistake  as  to  the 
date  and  meaning  of  these  vengeful,  exasperated  lines. 
They  belong,  evidently,  to  this  year  1506;  they  have  in 
view  Julius  II.,  marching  at  the  head  of  his  troops 
against  Perugia  and  Bologna;  this  is  the  farewell  that  the 
embittered  artist,  deceived  in  his  hopes  of  fortune  and 
fame,  flings  in  the  face  of  the  Pope,  “the  man  in  the 
cloak,’’  at  the  moment  of  taking  refuge  with  the  Sultan. 
They  are  signed  : Finis.  Vostro  Miccelagniolo  in  Turchia.'1 

“ It  would  be  better  for  you  to  return  and  die  with  the 
Pope  than  to  go  and  live  with  the  Grand  Turk,”  said  the 
good  gonfalonier  to  the  artist.  Some  time  before  this  he 
had  protested  to  Buonarroti  that  the  latter  had  acted  to- 
wards the  Pontiff,  in  this  matter,  “ as  the  King  of  France 
himself  would  not  have  dared  to  do.  Bet  us  have  done 
with  shifts  and  entreaties;  we  shall  not  make  war  with 
the  Pope  on  account  of  you,  nor  shall  we  endanger  the 
safety  of  the  State;  prepare  to  return  to  Rome.”  Julius 
II.,  still  being  urgent,  in  letters  now  dated  from  classic 
Felsina,  Buonarroti  at  last  yields,  and  sets  off  for  Bologna, 
“ a rope  around  my  neck,”  he  says  in  his  curious  letter  to 
Fattucci,  written  twenty  years  later. 

He  arrives  at  Bologna  early  in  December,  1506,  and 
goes  to  hear  mass  in  the  church  of  San  Petronio.  He  is 
recognised  in  church  by  a servant  of  the  Pope,  and  is 

1 In  publishing  this  sonnet  for  the  first  time,  the  nephew  of 
Michelangelo  refers  it  to  the  year  1527,  and  the  sack  of  Rome  ; 
Mr.  Springer  does  the  same.  The  latest  and  very  learned  editor 
of  the  Rime , Signor  Guasti  (p.  157),  explains,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  signature  Finis.  Vostro  Miccelagniolo  in  Turchia  as  follows  : 
Quà  in  Roma , che  par  diventato  un  paese  di  Turchi  ! 


54 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


brought  forthwith  into  the  presence  of  the  master,  who  is 
desirous  to  see  him  without  delay.  Julius  II.  is  at  table 
in  the  palace  of  the  Bentivogli,  one  of  the  finest  buildings 
at  that  time  to  be  seen  in  Italy.  All  the  Court  is  present 
at  the  pontiff’s  repast.  “ You  have  delayed  long  and  we 
have  been  obliged  to  come  to  meet  you!”  exclaims  the 
old  man,  exasperated  at  sight  of  the  fugitive.  Buonarroti 
kneels  and  makes  his  plea  — he  had  not  deserved  the 
treatment  received  in  Easter  week.  One  of  the  courtiers 
present,  a prelate,  takes  it  upon  himself  to  offer  apologies 
for  the  culprit  : one  must  be  indulgent  towards  this  race 
of  artists  who  understand  nothing  outside  their  trade,  and 
are  often  lacking  in  good  manners.  “ How  dare  you,” 
thunders  Julius  II.,  “ say  to  this  man  things  that  I myself 
would  not  say  ? It  is  you  who  lack  manners;  to  the  devil 
with  you!”  At  this  blow,  the  unfortunate  prelate  is 
dismayed,  he  stumbles,  is  led  out  of  the  hall  by  the  serv- 
ants, and  the  Pope,  in  sign  of  pardon,  bestows  upon  the 
sculptor  the  apostolic  benediction.  Could  the  picture  be 
improved  ? 

The  reconciliation  is  now  complete  between  these  two 
terribili , and,  as  in  the  good  Roman  days,  the  Pope  at 
Bologna  frequently  visits  the  sculptor  in  his  studio  behind 
the  Cathedral;  for  already  Buonarroti  is  again  in  harness. 
It  is  no  longer  a question  of  the  famous  mortuary  monu- 
ment; undeceive  yourself  on  this  point;  there  is  something 
altogether  new  in  hand,  namely,  a statue  of  Julius  II., 
which  is  to  be  placed  high  upon  the  facade  of  San  Petro- 
nio to  celebrate  the  recovery  of  Bologna  by  the  Holy  See. 
It  is  to  be  a work  in  bronze,  and,  being  concerted  between 


The  Statue  at  Bologna  (1506-1507)  55 

Rovere  and  Buonarroti,  one  may  well  suppose  its  propor- 
tions will  not  be  ordinary:  the  statue  is  to  be  three  times 
the  size  of  life!  The  sculptor  attacked  the  work  with 
ardour;  at  the  end  of  a few  weeks  he  was  able  to  show 
the  master  the  model  in  clay.  The  pontiff  is  represented 
sitting,  the  triple  crown  upon  his  head,  his  right  hand 
lifted.  The  gesture  is  haughty;  it  is  almost  violent,  and 
Julius  inquires  if  the  lifted  hand  intends  to  bless  or  to 
curse.  The  sculptor  answers  with  a singular  pertinency, 
which  well  gives  the  lie  to  the  prelate’s  charge  that  art- 
ists are  a clownish  folk:  “ The  right  hand  lifted  bids  the 
Bolognese  be  obedient;  but  what  shall  the  left  hand  hold, 
— a book  ?”  ‘‘A  sword,  a sword;  I am  no  scholar,  not 

I!”  is  the  characteristic  response  of  Julius  II.  More 
sagacious  than  the  pontiff,  the  artist,  in  the  end,  preferred 
to  give  to  the  left  hand  S.  Peter’s  keys. 

Remaining  alone  at  Bologna,  after  the  Pope’s  departure 
(February,  1507),  Michelangelo  pursues  his  task  unremit- 
tingly, but  under  conditions  constantly  more  and  more 
difficult  and  irritating.  An  epidemic  ravages  the  city; 
also  the  sculptor  fails  not  to  remark  that  the  disposition 
of  the  people  is  changing,  and  turning  against  the  régime 
but  just  now  established  and  welcomed.  He  orders  as- 
sistants from  Florence  and  sends  them  away  again  im- 
mediately; he  believes  himself  basely  exploited  by  his 
comrades  and  regarded  with  hostility  or  undermined  by 
all  who  come  near  him.  For  a word,  awkwardly  said, 
perhaps,  but  without  the  least  intention  of  giving  offence, 
he  is  very  rough  with  poor  Francesco  Francia,  favourite 
goldsmith  and  painter  to  the  Bentivogli,  the  former  lords 


56 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


of  the  place.  And  did  he  not  also,  some  months  earlier, 
pick  a quarrel  much  more  offensively  with  a man  much 
more  illustrious,  namely,  Leonardo  da  Vinci  ? The  latter, 
crossing  the  Piazza  della  Santa  Trinità,  in  Florence,  with 
a group  of  friends,  calls  out  to  Michelangelo,  who  is  pass- 
ing, to  give  them  the  explanation  of  a passage  from  Dante, 
which  the  party  are  at  the  moment  discussing.  “ Explain 
it  yourself,”  is  the  truly  incredible  answer,  “you,  who 
tried  to  make  an  equestrian  statue  in  bronze  and  could  not 
do  it!  Only  those  idiots  of  Milanese  would  have  thought 
you  could  ! ’ ’ 

It  might  be  said  that  an  avenging  Fate  turned  against 
Michelangelo  himself  this  most  unfriendly  reply  to  the 
great  Lionardo:  he,  in  turn,  could  not  melt  the  metal  in 
the  furnaces  of  Bologna,  and  was  obliged  to  have  recourse 
to  men  who  were  experienced  in  foundry-work,  with 
whom  he  had  many  disagreements.  It  was  not  until 
after  fifteen  months  that  the  statue  was  completed.  The 
21st  of  February,  1508,  “ at  the  hour  recognised  as  pro- 
pitious by  the  astrologers,”  the  statue  of  Julius  II.  was 
lifted  to  its  niche  over  the  portal  of  San  Petronio,  to  the 
sound  of  drums,  trumpets,  and  bells. 

The  astrologers  had  made  some  miscalculation  ; and  the 
people  of  Bologna,  on  their  part,  were  very  far  from  re- 
maining “obedient.”  They  revolted,  three  years  later 
(May  21,  1511),  negotiated  with  the  French,  then  at  war 
with  the  Pope,  and  recalled  their  former  masters,  the 
Bentivogli;  the  citadel  only,  recently  constructed  by 
Julius  II.,  held  out  for  a time. 

“ Now  there  was,”  relates  the  Maréchal  Fleuranges, 


The  Statue  at  Bologna  (1506-1507)  57 

in  his  picturesque  old  French,  “ in  the  city  of  Boulone 
[Bologna],  over  the  portal  of  the  church,  on  high,  a pope 
all  in  massive  copper,  which  Pope  Julius  had  caused  to  be 
made,  which  was  as  large  as  a giant,  and  could  be  seen 
from  a great  distance.  The  Benti voiles,  having  a spite 
at  it,  put  ropes  round  its  neck,  and,  by  strength  of  men, 
pulled  it  down,  and  broke  the  neck  of  it.  Then  incontin- 
ent the  Sieur  de  Bentivolle  had  it  melted,  made  a double 
cannon  of  it,  and  in  six  days  fired  it  at  the  castle.”  1 

It  is  difficult  to  see  how  it  was  possible  that,  of  so  im- 
portant a work  of  Buonarroti, — one  of  the  very  few  statues 
that  he  ever  completely  finished,  and  the  only  bronze 
statue, — there  should  remain  to  us  no  engraving,  no  draw- 
ing, not  even  a description  in  any  degree  detailed  and 
intelligible.  Vasari,  who  never  saw  it,  says  in  his  con- 
ventional style  that  it  was  full  of  majesty  and  terribilità. 

'Fleuranges  made  the  entire  campaign  of  1511,  and  speaks  as  an 
eye-witness.  But  Signor  Gozzadini  ( Atti  e Memoire.  ...  di 
Romagna,  1889,  pp.  242-45)  maintains,  following  the  Bolognese 
chroniclers,  that  the  statue  was  not  destroyed  till  near  the  close  of 
the  year  1511  (Dec.  30),  many  months  after  the  taking  of  the  castle, 
but  by  the  orders  of  the  Bentivogli,  all  the  same.  The  fragments 
were  said  to  have  been  sent  to  Alfonso,  Duke  of  Ferrara,  who  made 
cannon  of  the  metal,  one  especially  large  which  he  placed  in  front 
of  his  castle,  and  named  the  Julia. 


CHAPTER  V 


ON  THE  THRESHOLD  OF  THE  SISTINA 

In  looking  back  over  his  three  years  in  the  service  of 
Julius  II.,  Michelangelo,  being  what  we  know  he  was, 
must  always  have  felt  a certain  rancour  against  “ the  man 
in  the  cloak,”  whose  statue  in  bronze  he  had  just  now 
lifted  to  its  place  over  the  portal  of  San  Petronio.  The 
colossal  conceptions  of  the  mausoleum  of  S.  Peter’s,  the 
fatigues  of  the  long  months  in  the  quarries  of  Carrara,  the 
hopes,  too,  of  “ gaining  wealth,”  so  ingenuously  avowed 
in  the  angry  sonnet  of  1506, — of  all  this  nothing  had 
come,  except  a simple  iconic  monument  in  a provincial 
town,  a monument  which  Rome  would  never  know  of, 
and  in  which  the  sculptor  himself  seems  to  have  felt  no 
very  keen  interest.  It  is  indeed  noteworthy  that  Buon- 
arroti only  rarely  refers  to  this  statue  destroyed  almost 
as  soon  as  created;  he,  who  speaks  always  with  grief, 
with  despair,  of  “ the  tragedy  of  the  tomb,”  will  never 
mention,  among  the  wrongs  done  to  his  genius,  the  fate, 
very  tragic,  nevertheless,  of  his  Bolognese  work.  And, 
during  these  three  years,  thus  absolutely  lost  for  his 
fame,  other  men  in  Rome  — rivals  and  enemies  — had 
worked  without  hindrance,  had  gained  important  suc- 
cesses! From  Bologna  he  kept  up  a continuous  correspond- 
ence with  Giuliano  da  Sangallo,  with  Cardinal  Alidosi,  and 

58 


Cappella  Sistina  (Vatican  Palace) 


CHAPTER 

ON  THE  THRESHOf  ' .r'ìTNA 


In  looking  back  over  his  tr 

the  service  of 

Julius  II-.  Michelangelo,  being  Tut 

' now  he  was, 

must  always  have  felt  a certa; ■ . t : - 

ist  “ the  man 

in  the  cloak,”  whose  statue  - *c 

had  just  now 

lifted  to  its  place  over  the  port 

tronio.  The 

colossal  conceptions  of  the  itimi!  lattisi 

S Peter’s,  the 

fatigues  of  the  long  months  . : U 

• r.i  Carrara,  the 

hopes,  too,  of  “ gaining  wealth  ' » in 

uously  avowed 

in  the  angry  sonnet  of  i s •-  ./>  -ill 

. nothing  had 

come,  except  a simple  icon; 

in  a provincial 

town,  a monument  which  Route  woa 

never  know  of, 

ani  in  which  the  sculptor  himself  see 

a have  felt  no 

? interest.  It  is  iudeed  notati 

■ ;tby  rhat  Buon- 

-•«rrui!  mil v rareljT  refers  to  thj*  stut w 

destroyed  almost 

as  soon  as  created;  he,  vi 

with  grief, 

with  dt-sp-i;r,  of  “ the  t raged \ rf  ehf< 

**s ft*. ■ will  never 

ir<  utio.i.  uig  the  wrongs  d.me  u.  X 

w eoi  us,  the  fate, 

•\  . mio,  nevertheless,  ol  ■ frAjg 

work.  And, 

during  these  three  year-.  tv.*,-  ■ 

lost  for  his 

tame  other  men  in  Rome 

had 

worked  without  hindrance,  v «a 

sue- 

l rum  Bologna  he  kept  - - . 

• pond- 

h I;  » • iuliano da Sangailu.  .v  h *.» 

ssi,  and 

(aDAJAT  XAOITAY)  AHIT3l8  ajjhtiaD 


Mmm 


On  the  Threshold  of  the  Sistina  59 


was  well  informed  as  to  what  went  on  in  the  Eternal  City: 
he  knew  that  Bramante  was  there  extending  more  and 
more  his  activity  and  his  influence;  that  the  architect  had 
with  him  a crowd  of  painters  recently  engaged  (close  of 
1507)  for  the  decoration  of  the  new  rooms  in  the  Vatican 
Palace;  that  he  kept  open  house  and  was  regarded  as  the 
director  of  fine  arts  under  the  great  pontificate.  Some- 
thing still  more  serious — Rome  was  filled  with  enthusiasm 
in  respect  to  a master,  by  name  Andrea  Sansovino,  who, 
invited  in  1506  from  Florence  by  Julius  II.,  had  already 
completed,  in  Santa  Maria  del  Popolo,  two  superb  things 1 
which  the  world  of  connoisseurs  extolled  beyond  measure, 
placing  them  above  all  that  had  ever  been  done  before, 
proclaiming  them  the  masterpieces  of  the  age;  and  these 
were  works  of  sculpture,  these  were  funereal  monuments! 
That  Bramante  had  employed  his  art  for  the  much- 
vaunted  setting  of  these  two  tombs,  that  he  had  put  his 
skill  as  architect  at  the  service  of  the  sculptor  Andrea, — 
this  could  not  but  be  one  grief  the  more,  the  proof  of  a 
conspiracy  set  on  foot  against  the  author  of  the  Pietà  and 
the  David. 

We  must,  I think,  bring  together  all  these  circum- 
stances, in  order  to  explain  the  very  singular  fact  that 
when  the  laborious  task  at  Bologna  was  finished,  Michel- 
angelo did  not  take  the  trouble  to  go  to  Rome  and  give 
account  to  the  Pope  of  the  completion  and  installation  of 
the  monument  at  San  Petronio.  He  returned  at  once  to 
Florence  (end  of  February,  1508),  and  made  arrangements 

1 Sansovino’s  two  works  at  Santa  Maria  del  Popolo  belong  to 
the  years  1506-08.  See  Vasari,  ed.  Milanesi,  iv.,  527. 


6o 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


there  to  resume  the  labours  begun  three  years  earlier 
by  order  of  the  Chapter  and  the  Signory.  Julius  II., 
however,  lost  no  time  in  calling  him  to  Rome  (end  of 
March,  1508);  and  Buonarroti  immediately  obeyed, — re- 
luctantly, the  biographers  say,  but  with  the  sad  convic- 
tion that  resistance  would  be  useless.  For  my  own  part, 
I do  not  willingly  admit  this.  Between  these  two  men  of 
destiny  there  was  a mysterious  attraction,  stronger  than 
any  impulse  of  vexation  or  anger;  and  besides,  with  the 
sculptor,  the  desire  of  executing  the  predestined  mauso- 
leum must  have  been,  after  Sansovino’s  resounding  suc- 
cesses, more  ardent  than  before.  The  blocks  of  marble 
were  still  there  in  Rome,  in  the  piazza  near  the  studio, 
and  so  many  “ living  figures”  so  long  dreamed  of  were 
awaiting  the  magic  blow  of  the  mallet  to  shake  off  their 
shroud  of  stone!  It  is  true  that,  as  to  this,  Michelangelo 
was  only  too  quickly  undeceived.  Julius  II.  was  still  oc- 
cupied with  his  project  for  the  Sistina,  and  would  not 
listen  to  the  excuse  non  essendo  io  pittore , again  made  to 
him  by  the  author  of  the  cartoon  for  the  Palazzo  Vecchio. 
Without  doubt,  it  was  only  under  stress,  compelled,  “ a 
rope  about  the  neck,”  that  Buonarroti  was  to  be  brought 
to  produce  the  greatest  work  of  modern  painting, — of 
any  painting  that  the  world  has  known. 

“ When  I came  back  to  Rome,”  1 he  says  later,  in  the 
letter  to  Fattuci  already  quoted,  “ the  Pope  did  not  allow 
me  to  complete  the  tomb,  but  ordered  me  to  paint  the 
vault  of  the  Sistina,  and  it  was  agreed  that  for  this  he 
should  pay  me  three  thousand  ducats.  According  to  the 
1 Lettere , p.  427. 


On  the  Threshold  of  the  Sistina  61 


first  project,  I was  to  make  the  Twelve  Apostles  in  the 
lunettes,  and  fill  the  rest  with  the  usual  ornaments. 
When  I began,  however,  it  seemed  to  me,  and  I immedi- 
ately said  so  to  the  Pope,  that  this  would  never  be  more 
than  a very  poor  thing.  He  asked  me  why,  and  I said 
because  the  Apostles  themselves  were  very  poor.  Then 
he  gave  a new  order  : I should  do  what  I pleased  ; and  he 
would  pay  me  accordingly.” 

In  an  autographic  note,  dated  May  io,  1508,  and  pre- 
served in  the  British  Museum,  the  artist  acknowledges 
the  receipt  of  ‘‘five  hundred  ducats,  good  weight,  on 
account  of  the  painting  in  the  chapel  of  Pope  Sixtus,  on 
which  I begin  work  to-day,  in  accordance  with  the  con- 
ditions of  agreement  in  an  act  written  by  the  Reverend 
Monsignor  de  Pavia  (Alidosi)  and  signed  by  my  hand.”  1 

The  obstinate  will  of  the  Rovere  triumphed;  the 
sculptor  of  the  tomb  made  way  (1508-12)  for  the  painter 
of  the  Sistina.  Ill,  fevered,  scarcely  taking  time  to  eat  a 
crust  of  bread,  for  years  he  is  perched  at  a dizzy  height, 
on  “ a bridge  ” — Condivi  calls  it, — hanging  from  the  roof, 
and  there  he  paints,  his  head  always  thrown  back.  His 
eyesight  suffered  cruelly,  and,  long  after,  he  could  not 
read,  or  examine  a drawing  in  any  other  way  than  di  giù 
in  sopra , his  eyes  raised  to  the  ceiling.  In  this  sombre 

1 Lettere,  p.  563.  Michelangelo  did  not,  however,  begin  work  on 
the  frescos  till  October  or  November,  1508  ; the  five  or  six  months 
preceding  were  employed  in  the  preparation  of  cartoons,  the  con- 
struction of  the  scatfolding,  and  the  search  for  assistants  (Granacci, 
Bugiardini,  and  others).  The  paintings  of  the  vault  were  com- 
pletely finished  in  1512  ; the  whole  work,  therefore,  occupied  four 
years  and  a half  (May,  1508,  to  October,  1512). 


Ó2 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


and  solitary  chapel,  the  Pope  will  visit  him  at  times, — 
coming  from  the  Council  where  there  has  been  discussion 
of  important  incidents  in  the  League  of  Cambrai,  return- 
ing from  a campaign  where  some  Romagnole  city  has 
been  stormed;  and  the  old  man  nearly  seventy — who  ap- 
pears eighty,  so  wrinkled  and  bent  is  he — will  climb 
resolutely  the  steep  and  winding  stairs  which  from  the 
outer  wall  lead  up  to  the  cornice  of  the  windows,  then 
will  mount  a shaking  ladder,  and  so  arrive  upon  the 
scaffolding  at  the  painter’s  side.  Once,  strange  questions 
and  answers  were  heard  under  the  Sistine  vault:  “ When 
shall  you  finish  ? ” — “ When  I can.” — “ Do  you  want  me 
to  throw  you  off  this  platform  ? ’ ’ Returning  to  his 
apartment,  the  pontiff  will  send  Accursio  or  some  other 
chamberlain  to  beg  pardon  of  the  painter  for  the  moment- 
ary anger;  thus  quarrels  will  end  by  reconciliations,  great 
bursts  of  anger  by  amorevolezze. 

There  is,  however,  in  these  very  extraordinary  and 
original  relations  between  Julius  II.  and  Michelangelo, 
a certain  obscure  point,  vexatious  and  embarrassing. 
Buonarroti,  in  his  correspondence,  complains  very  often 
and  most  bitterly  of  the  difficulty  he  has  in  obtaining  from 
the  Pope  his  pay,  even  enough,  he  affirms,  to  reimburse 
him  for  his  expenses.  The  biographers  here  do  not  fail 
to  cry  out  upon  the  parsimony,  the  sordid  avarice  of 
Julius  II.  ; but  why  does  not  Raffaello  or  Bramante,  or 
any  of  the  numerous  architects,  painters,  and  sculptors 
employed  by  the  Rovere  give  utterance  to  similar  com- 
plaints? It  is  well  known,  however,  with  what  con- 
spicuous luxury  the  young  Santi  delighted  to  surround 


On  the  Threshold  of  the  Sistina  63 


himself  from  his  beginnings  in  Rome,  and  how  expensive 
was  the  life  of  the  architect  of  S.  Peter’s:  “ Pope  Julius,” 
his  guest  Caporali  tells  us  concerning  Bramante,  “ has 
made  Master  Donato  rich  in  spite  of  himself,  and  has 
loaded  him  with  benefices  and  pensions.”  1 It  seems  prob- 
able that  Raffaello  and  Bramante  both  deport  themselves 
towards  Julius  II.  as  artists  towards  their  Maecenas:  they 
understand  well  that  the  patron  is  not  pleased  to  be  im- 
portuned by  requests  for  money,  but  that,  in  moments  of 
satisfaction  and  generosity,  he  will  reward  a hundredfold 
the  services  rendered  him.  Michelangelo  expects  nothing 
from  munificence,  he  asks  only  his  due;  but  he  asks  it 
without  ceremony  or  shyness,  — brusque  as  a creditor, 
haughty  as  “ a gentleman.”  2 

For  a man  of  gentle  blood  he  knows  himself  to  be, — of 
much  nobler  family  than  the  Rovere  with  his  tiara. 
Julius  II.  is  of  obscure  race,  probably  a descendant  of 
artisans:  in  his  moments  of  anger,  the  King  of  France, 
BouisXII.,  calls  the  Pope  “ a peasant’s  son,  who  must  be 
driven  with  a stick  ” 3;  while  Michelangelo  believes  him- 
self the  scion  of  one  of  the  oldest  and  noblest  Italian 

1 Cesare  Cesariano,  Vitruvio  (Como,  1521,  p.  75).  Julio,  quasi 
contro  la  voglio  di  esso  Bramante  ...  lo  fece  riccho  e gli 
donno  benefica  et  officii  de  maxime  pensione  annuario  più  che  non 
bisognava  asai  a la  sua  decente  vita,  etc. 

2 Michelangelo  himself  says  that  he  worked  for  no  one  except  the 
Popes,  but  under  the  pontificate  of  Julius  II.  he  constantly  made 
large  provision  for  his  own  family,  even  buying  lands  in  Tuscany, 
a manifest  proof  that  he  could  not  have  been  poor,  whatever  has 
been  said. 

3 Despatch  of  the  Florentine  envoy  to  the  King  of  France.  Des- 
jardins, Negotiations  diplomatiques,  ii. , 220. 


64 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


families.  Rightly  or  wrongly,  he  is  convinced  that  the 
Buonarroti  descend  from  the  illustrious  house  of  Canossa, 
to  which  belonged  the  great  Countess  Matilda,  “ sov- 
ereign,” says  Condivi  (and  evidently  under  the  master’s 
dictation)  “ sovereign  of  Mantua,  Lucca,  Parma,  Reggio, 
and  that  part  of  Tuscany  which  is  now  called  the  Patri- 
mony of  S.  Peter.”  The  sculptor  carefully  treasured  in 
his  archives  the  letter  by  which  Count  Alessandro  da 
Canossa  confirmed,  in  1520,  this  kinship  to  the  man 
of  genius  now  become  famous 1 ; he  took  for  heraldic 
device,  a dog  gnawing  a bone  ( 'canis  ossa),  and  he  in- 
variably employed  his  savings  in  the  purchase  of  land 
in  Tuscany:  the  desire  of  giving  back  their  ancient  dis- 
tinction to  his  family,  decayed  in  the  vicissitudes  of  time, 
is  one  of  the  remarkable  traits,  human  and  touching  also, 
in  his  long  and  laborious  career.2  Would  it  be  a mistake 
to  attribute  to  this  reciprocal  situation  of  Buonarroti  and 
Della  Rovere  most  of  the  stormy  episodes  which,  from 
time  to  time,  marked  the  very  peculiar  relations  between 
the  Pope  and  the  artist  ? From  time  to  time,  the  man  of 
genius  in  his  poverty  may  have  remembered  that  he  was 
a man  of  quality  and  of  famous  race,  and  that  it  was  his 
kinswoman,  the  Countess  Matilda,  who  had  given  these 
very  Popes  the  Patrimony  they  now  possessed  ! 

Michelangelo  is  thirty-three  years  of  age  3 as  he  crosses 

1 Lettere , p.  216. 

5 He  writes  in  1546  to  his  nephew  Leonardo  : N oi  siamo  cittadini 
discesi  di  nobilissima  stirpe.  Mi  non  sempre  ingegniato  di  risuci- 
tar  la  casa  nostra , ma  non  ò avuto  frategli  da  ciò.  . . . Lettere, 
p.  197. 

3 To  speak  exactly,  thirty-two  years  and  two  months  ; he  was 
born  March  15,  1475. 


On  the  Threshold  of  the  Sistina  65 


the  threshold  of  that  Sistine  Chapel  which  was  to  render 
him  immortal.  He  is  short  of  stature,  thickset,  of  deli- 
cate constitution,  yet  having  great  powers  of  endurance; 
he  is  left-handed,  and  he  has  an  immense  head.  His  long 
beard,  his  thick,  slightly  curling  hair,  his  prominent 
cheek-bones,  and  the  nose,  broken  by  Torrigiano’s  brutal 
blow,  give  his  face  a strange  and  somewhat  hirsute  ap- 
pearance; but  the  forehead  is  broad  and  noble,  and  the 
eyes  have  a profound  and  fascinating  melancholy.  Such 
we  see  him — only  much  older  and  with  wrinkled  forehead 
— in  the  portrait  in  the  Gallery  of  the  Capitol  which  is  at- 
tributed to  Marcello  Venusti.1  It  is  strange,  however, 
that  none  of  the  famous  masters  of  the  epoch  thought  of 
reproducing  Buonarroti’s  features.  Raffaello,  taking  all 
his  frescos  and  easel  pictures  together,  gives  us  an  almost 
complete  gallery  of  the  men  of  mark  in  Rome  in  his  time: 
Julius  II.,  Reo  X.,  and  the  future  Pope  Clement  VII.; 
Francesco  Maria,  Duke  of  Urbino,  Giuliano  de’  Medici, 

1 Hall  IV.,  No.  134  ; the  painting  has  been  much  retouched.  The 
Capitol  has  also  (Palace  of  the  Conservatori,  Hall  V.)  an  admirable 
bronze  head,  probably  from  the  model  by  Daniele  da  Volterra, 
made  at  the  time  of  Michelangelo’s  death.  The  same  Volterra 
has  also  given  the  features  of  Michelangelo  to  the  figure  of  an 
apostle  in  his  fresco  of  The  Assumption  at  the  Trinità  de’  Monti, 
in  Rome  (facing  the  Descent  from  the  Cross)',  it  is  the  apostle  in 
the  foreground,  at  the  right,  in  a light  red  cloak  ; he  is  leaning 
against  a pillar  and  pointing  to  the  Virgin.  Buonarroti  here  has 
thin,  curling  hair  and  a beard  entirely  white.  In  the  great  Hall 
of  the  Cancellaria,  which  Vasari  decorated  “ in  a hundred  days,” 
in  the  reign  and  to  the  glory  of  Paul  III.,  we  see  Michelangelo  in 
a group  composed  of  Sadoleto,  Reginald  Pole,  Bembo,  Contarmi, 
Paolo  Giovio,  and  others.  Vasari  himself  speaks  of  this  portrait  of 
Buonarroti  in  his  autobiography  at  the  end  of  his  Vite. 


66 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


the  Duke  de  Nemours,  Castiglione,  Bibbiena,  Bindo  Alto- 
viti,  Sigismondo  de’  Conti,  and  Inghirami  ; Ariosto,  Peru- 
gino, Bramante,  and  a host  of  others.  But  you  will  seek 
vainly  in  this  gallery  the  immortal  painter  of  the  Sistine. 
Raffaello  is  indeed  excusable;  he  was  under  no  obligation 
to  do  honour  to  his  great  rival,  always  scornful  and  some- 
times very  rude  towards  him.  But  Sebastian  del  Piombo, 
surely,  was  neither  a rival  nor  a person  maltreated;  he 
missed  no  opportunity  to  curry  favour  with  Michelangelo, 
to  cozen  him,  above  all,  to  prejudice  him  against  the 
young  Urbinate  and  his  followers,  “ the  Synagogue,”  as 
he  called  them.  He  was,  moreover,  the  greatest  portrait- 
painter  at  that  time  living  in  Rome;  why  did  he  not  hold 
himself  in  honour  bound  to  bequeath  to  posterity  the 
image  of  his  “ divine  master,”  as  he  was  wont  to  call 
Buonarroti?  He  preferred  to  hand  down  to  us  the  in- 
solent features  of  the  infamous  Aretino,  and  so  also 
did  Titian,  the  splendid  egotist, — notwithstanding  all  the 
flattering  things  he  took  occasion  to  say  concerning 
Michelangelo,  at  the  time  of  his  Roman  visit;  in  1546. 
It  is  true  that  at  that  very  time  Michelangelo  was  declar- 
ing that  the  great  Venetian  could  not  draw! 1 

That  great  story-teller,  Benvenuto  Cellini,  affirms  that 

1 Bernini’s  narrative  is  most  characteristic:  “ Paul  III.,  at  that 

time  building  the  Farnese  palace,  told  Michelangelo  to  see  a 
Venus  that  Titian,  who  had  come  to  Rome,  had  painted.  After  he 
had  looked  at  it  carefully,  the  Pope  asked  him  what  he  thought  of 
it.  ‘ God  has  done  well  what  He  has  done,’  Michelangelo  replied, 
‘ for  if  those  painters  knew  how  to  draw  they  would  be  angels,  and 
not  men.’  ” —Journal  du  voyage  de  Bernini  en  France , published 
by  the  Gazette  des  Beaux-Arts,  xvii.,  p.  352. 


Portrait  of  Cardinal  Bibbiena  (Raffaello) 


66 


Ri' ! flit 


.imi  the  Renaissance 

15  urs,  Castiglione,  Bibbiena,  Biado  Alto- 

i i,  and  li  , i >,  Peru- 

. a host  of  others.  Bi  vili  seek 

v r\  the  immortal  painte:  .-•*  Un  Sistine. 
cd  excusable;  he  was  un  i m ' ligation 
great  rival,  always  sc  • Put  md  some- 
•:  towards  him.  But  SebaMi.n  «Spiombo, 

■ o her  a rival  nor  < person  maltreated;  he 
* portunity  to  curry  Gv-  mr  with  Michelangelo, 

. above  all,  to  p r ' im  against  the 

: V binate  and  his  follow  , - the  Synagogue,”  as 
hem.  He  was,  moi  r greatest  portrait- 

-,  ut  that  time  living  in  !<•  •.  . in  hid  he  not  hold 
- If  in  honour  bound  to  bequmth  to  posterity  the 
of  his  “divine  master,  .is  he  was  wont  to  call 
roti?  He  preferred  to  h • ! d nvn  to  ns  the  in- 
ures of  the  infamou  àr  tmo,  : so  also 
m,  the  splendid  egotist,  n.  wit  lista  a all  the 

rhvg  things  he  took  oce,.  .->»>  ■»  saj  concerning 

ut  -.he  ì:  r i-Gmiau  visit,-  in  1546. 

ft  -»t  vt  hat  at  that  very  time  1 ic  ng«  4.  was  declar- 
eat  Venetian  could. not  draw!  ' 

•t  < ■ -it  story-teller,  Benvenuto  > .mi,  affirms  that 

C -'P  narrative  is  most  characteristic  . “ Paul  III.,  at  that 

..iing  the  Farnese  palace,  told  Mieli*  Gngelo  to  see  a 
n:  * ■ t Titian,  who  had  come  to  Rome,  had  p outed.  After  he 

• k-  d at  it  carefully,  the  Pope  asked  bitn  wh  o he  thought  of 
it.  ‘God  has  done  well  what  He  has  done,’  Michelangelo  replied, , 
• I.**-  .if  (hose  painters  knew  how  to  draw  they  woo’  ■ gels,  and 
r A men.’  Journal  du  voyage  de  Bernini  en  F*v>  published 
> ‘ HO  TIAJITaO? 


On  the  Threshold  of  the  Sistina  6 7 


he  has  from  the  lips  of  the  offender  himself  the  story  of 
the  frightful  scene  when  Michelangelo  received  his  life- 
long disfigurement. 

“We  were  boys  together,  Buonarroti  and  I,”  said  Tor- 
rigiano,  “ and  often  went  to  the  church  of  the  Carmine  to 
study  in  the  chapel  of  Masaccio.  Buonarroti,  who  was 
accustomed  to  sneer  at  all  of  us  who  were  copying  there, 
made  me  one  day  particularly  angry  ; I gave  him  such  a 
blow  in  the  face  that  I felt  the  bone  and  cartilage  of  his 
nose  break  down  under  my  fist.  He  will  bear  the  mark 
of  it  while  he  lives.”  1 2 

Reading  this  atrocious  thing,  one  is  not  sorry  to  know 
from  Vasari  that  this  brute  — half  artist  and  half  cut- 
throat, soldier  of  Cesare  Borgia,  and  sculptor  much  ad- 
mired at  the  Court  of  England — ended  his  days  miserably 
in  the  prison  of  the  Spanish  Inquisition.  I can  hardly 
venture  to  doubt,  however,  that  the  conduct  of  the  youth- 
ful Buonarroti,  in  the  chapel  of  Masaccio,  was  of  an  irri- 
tating kind.  At  a maturer  age,  he  was  scarcely  more 
gracious  towards  Perugino,  towards  Francia,  towards 
Signorelli,  towards  Eionardo  da  Vinci,  towards  Bra- 
mante, Raffaello,  or  Antonio  da  Sangallo. 

He  is  not  cordial,  and  he  is  anything  but  affable,  let 
us  frankly  admit.  Sad  and  sombre  in  disposition,  sensi- 
tive to  excess  and  aggressive  without  cause,  irritable  and 
irritating,3  he  equally  misplaces  his  affections  and  his 

1 Benvenuto  Cellini,  Mem.,  I.,  chap.  xiii. 

2 “It  is  singular  that  Michelangelo’s  correspondence  with  his 
father,  with  Luigi  del  Riccio,  with  Tommaso  dei  Cavalieri,  and 

with  his  nephew,  all  of  whom  he  loved  sincerely,  should  close 


68 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


antipathies,  and  he  is  ready  to  complain  without  well  choos- 
ing his  grounds  or  his  confidants.  Sober  as  an  anchorite, 
scrupulous  as  no  one  of  his  artist  rivals,  he  nevertheless 
has  quarrels  with  everybody  about  money — with  Julius 
II.,  with  the  Medici,  with  the  Duke  of  Urbino,  and  even 
with  poor  unfortunate  Signorelli,  whose  great  age  and 
great  merit  he  would  have  done  better  to  respect.1  He 
believes  himself  to  be  shamefully  exploited,  and  so,  in- 
deed, he  is, — especially  by  those  to  whom  he  addresses  his 
ingenuous  lamentations,  his  own  family  most  of  all,  who 
fleece  him  pitilessly.  Nervous  and  imaginative,  he  at- 
taches special  importance  to  dreams  and  omens;  he  has 
sometimes  strange  hallucinations,  inconceivable  terrors; 
under  the  sway  of  these  obsessions,  he  will  take  at  critical 
moments  ill-considered  resolutions,  compromising  to  his 
own  peace,  compromising  even  to  his  fame,  as  at  the  time 
of  the  siege  of  Florence. 

His  heart  is  eminently  good,  however,  and  affectionate, 
with  an  almost  feminine  tenderness  and  delicacy.  ‘ 1 Those 
who  only  know  Michelangelo  in  his  works,  know  only  that 
of  him  which  is  least  perfect,”  Vittoria  Colonna  said  of 
him  later.  His  correspondence  testifies  on  every  page  to 
his  profound  attachment  to  his  father  and  all  his  other 
kindred,  also  to  his  touching  solicitude  in  regard  to  old 
servants,  their  widows  and  orphans;  his  alms  are  as 
abundant  as  they  are  discreet.  Remark,  however,  the 

upon  a note  of  petulance  and  wrath.  The  fact  is  no  doubt  acci- 
dental. But  it  is  strange.”— J.  A.  Symonds,  Life  of  Michelangelo, 
voi.  ii.,  p.  313. 

1 See  his  truly  inexcusable  letter  on  the  subject  of  the  money 
owed  him  by  Signorelli,  Lettere,  p.  391. 


On  the  Threshold  of  the  Sistina  69 


aristocratic  feeling  which  shows  even  in  these  acts  of  lib- 
erality and  benevolence.  He  employs  the  first  money  he 
has  earned  in  placing  his  father  beyond  danger  of  want; 
he  buys  him  a piece  of  ground,  that  the  old  man  ‘ ‘ may  live 
as  a gentleman  should.  ’ ’ He  proposes  to  make  his  nephew 
Leonardo  his  principal  legatee,  and  urges  him  to  marry. 

“ Do  not  consider  the  question  of  dowry,  but  of  a worthy 
character  in  the  bride.  I think  at  Florence  there  must  be 
more  than  one  noble  but  impoverished  family  with  whom 
it  would  be  charity  to  form  an  alliance.  It  could  not  be 
said  that  you  were  seeking  to  ennoble  yourself  by  mar- 
riage, for  it  is  well  known  that  we  are  as  ancient  and  as 
noble  a house  as  any  in  Florence.”  1 

Again  he  bids  him  ‘‘seek  out  some  needy  Florentine 
who  has  daughters  to  marry  or  to  place  in  a convent,  and 
give  him  aid  secretly.  But  beware  of  imposters.  I mean 
citizens,  for  I know  that  such  are  ashamed  to  ask  for  help 
when  they  are  in  want.”  And  again: 

‘ ‘ I should  be  glad  to  have  you  let  me  know  if  you  hear 
of  any  citizen  of  rank  who  is  in  distress,  especially  if  there 
are  children  in  the  family,  that  I may  do  something  for 
him.  Be  careful  to  give  where  there  is  real  want,  and  not 
out  of  considerations  of  kinship  or  affection,  but  for  the 
love  of  God.  Do  not  say  whence  comes  the  help.” 

To  the  same  nephew  he  writes  on  another  occasion  : 

“ Say  to  the  priest  [Fattucci]  not  to  address  his  letters 
Michelangelo  scultore , for  I am  known  here  as  Michel- 
angelo Buonarroti.  I have  never  been  a painter  or  sculptor 
like  those  who  have  a shop  ( come  chi  ne  fà  bottegai).  I 
1 Lettere , p.  237. 


7o 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


have  never  been  willing  to  do  this,  out  of  consideration 
for  the  honour  of  my  parents  and  brothers.  I have  been 
in  the  service  of  three  Popes,  it  is  true,  but  to  this  I was 
obliged.”  1 

These  siugular  words  were  written  late  in  life,  but  they 
throw  light  upon  the  entire  past,  and  chiefly  upon  those 
stormy  years  of  youth,  now  under  consideration. 

With  the  ideas  and  the  manners  of  our  time  it  requires 
an  effort  to  understand  accurately  the  role  and  the  social 
position  of  those  Italian  masters  of  the  Quattrocento,  half 
artists  and  half  artisans:  tradesmen  with  their  bottega 
upon  the  street;  heads  of  workshops,  who  required  from 
their  pupils  ( garzoni ) an  apprentice’s  premium;  contract- 
ors making  minute  written  agreements  for  each  order 
from  their  clients.  In  these  contracts  everything  is 
settled  and  provided  for:  the  dimensions  of  the  sculpture 
or  the  painting,  the  number  of  the  figures,  their  attributes, 
the  quality  of  the  pigments,  especially  of  the  aquamarine 
and  the  gold.  The  artist  pledges  himself  naively  to  do  as 
well  as  this  or  that  maestro  of  renown,  to  do  even  better, 
“ as  well  as  any  man  whosoever,”  so  says  Leonardo  da 
Vinci  in  his  famous  letter  to  Tudovico  il  Moro! 2 Some- 

1 Lettere,  p.  225. — The  three  Popes  are  Julius  II.,  L,eo  X.,  and 
Clement  VII.  Michelangelo  had  no  affection  for  any  one  of  these 
pontiffs  ; in  his  writings  (letters  or  poetry)  there  is  not  a single 
truly  kind  word  in  reference  to  any  one  of  them,  while  there  are 
many  complaints  in  speaking  of  the  “tragedy  of  the  tomb.”  To 
Buonarroti  the  Sepoltura  was  never  an  affair  of  the  heart  ; it  was, 
first,  a matter  of  ambition,  and  secondly,  a matter  of  money.  The 
only  Pope  of  whom  the  artist  speaks  kindly  and  with  regret  is 
Paul  III.  Farnese.  See  Lettere , p.  260. 

2 Bottari,  Raccolta  dì  lettere , i.,  467. 


On  the  Threshold  of  the  Sistina  71 


times  the  payment  is  made  (partly,  at  least)  in  food  and 
clothes;  and  though  the  price  has  been  settled  in  advance, 
it  will  often  become  necessary  to  appeal  after  the  work  is 
done  to  the  judgment  of  experts  and  verifiers.  Orders  for 
work  come  most  frequently  from  the  Signory,  that  is  to 
say,  the  municipality  ; next,  from  religious  communities; 
lastly^,  from  private  individuals,  rich  merchants,  or  bank- 
ers. Willingly,  also,  the  painter  goes  “outside,”  on 
being  called,  to  some  neighbouring,  or  even  rival,  city  to 
decorate  a church  or  a chapel,  but  when  the  work  is  fin- 
ished, he  hastens  to  return  “ to  his  own  country,”  to  his 
family,  and  his  bottega.  Exception  must  be  made  in  the 
case  of  Fra  Angelico,  Lorenzo  Monaco,  and  their  like: 
these  humble  monks  laboured,  as  a rule,  for  their  Order 
only,  and  only  “ for  the  glory  of  God.” 

About  the  middle  of  the  Quattrocento,  the  communes, 
the  republics,  after  an  existence  long  prosperous  and  ac- 
tive, declined,  became  enfeebled,  disappeared,  even,  by- 
degrees;  and  in  their  place  arise  the  powerful  houses  of 
the  Medici,  Sforza,  Gonzaga,  Este,  Bentivogli,  Monte- 
feltri,  Malatesta,  and  others.  These  princely  Courts, 
to  which  must  be  added  that  of  the  Popes,  since  their 
return  from  Avignon,  surround  themselves  — as  much 
from  taste  as  from  policy  — with  all  the  splendours  that 
had  been  the  glory  of  the  free  cities,  and  attract  artists. 
The  artists  come  willingly;  they  execute  the  works  re- 
quired of  them;  they  seek  to  please  and  to  succeed;  the 
great  success  is  to  be  permanently  established  at  the  Court 
of  a prince  who  is  a lover  of  beautiful  things.  Thus 
Mantegna  is  attached  to  the  Gonzaghe,  Lionardo  da  Vinci 


72 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


to  the  Sforze,  Cosimo  Tura  to  the  Estensi,  Francia  to 
the  Bentivogli,  Mino  and  Pinturicchio  to  the  masters  of 
the  Vatican.  A kind  of  artistic  servitude  is  thus  estab- 
lished, tempered,  it  is  true,  by  that  friendly  simplicity, 
that  affability,  which  is  one  of  the  charming  traits  of  the 
period.  Everything  is  done  to  gratify  the  caprices  of  the 
Maecenas;  on  the  other  hand,  much  is  expected  from  his 
liberality.  This  expectation  is  made  known  to  him  in 
metaphor,  or  otherwise,  always  without  diffidence,  and 
sometimes  in  a very  doleful  tone.  An  instance  of  this  is 
a curious  letter,  ‘ ‘ full  of  tears  ’ ’ written  by  that  clever 
rascal  Fra  Filippo  Fippi  to  Piero  de’  Medici,  begging  him 
to  have  pity  on  the  painter’s  poverty  and  on  that  of  his  six 
nieces , “ all  of  marriageable  age  and  not  yet  married.”  1 
If  disappointed  in  his  hopes,  the  artist  changes  his  abode 
and  his  protector,  going  from  one  city  to  another,  to  offer 
his  talent,  as  the  condottieri  earlier  offered  their  swords 
and  the  humanists  their  eloquence.  Fionardo  da  Vinci 
puts  himself  by  turns,  and  with  a frankness  which  offends 
no  one,  at  the  service  of  Ludovico  il  Moro,  of  Cesare 
Borgia,  and  of  the  King  of  France,  the  invader  of  Milan. 
The  artist  becomes  indifferent  to  his  country,  to  his  native 
city,  to  liberty;  family  ties  are  weakened,  morals  grow 
loose,  and  all  piety  is  blunted.  It  is  very  significant,  in 
this  respect,  that  the  painter  of  the  most  devout  pictures 
of  the  period,  the  master  of  Raffaello  himself,  Perugino, 
is  reputed  to  have  been  an  unbeliever.  For  a moment  the 
preaching  of  Savonarola  again  reaches  men’s  minds,  and 
produces  a violent  shock:  a few  painters  even,  Fra  Bar- 
1 Gaye,  Carteggio , i.,  141.  The  letter  is  dated  Aug.  13,  1439. 


On  the  Threshold  of  the  Sistina  73 


tolommeo,  Eorenzo  di  Credi,  Botticelli,  receive  from  it  a 
deep  and  lasting  impression.  But  if  you  ask  for  the  true 
disciple,  the  elect  one,  upon  whom  fell  the  mantle  of  the 
great  Dominican  when  he  vanished  in  the  flames,  no 
other  name  can  be  mentioned  than  that  of  the  young 
Buonarroti. 

He  has  no  share  in  the  facile  manners  of  the  time;  for 
him  there  is  no  Fornarina.  Disfigured  very  early — privo 
piangendo  d'un  bel  volto  fiumano , as  he  says  himself  in  a 
most  pathetic  verse, 1 — he  never  knew,  as  a young  man, 
“ the  soft  chain  of  white  arms  ” about  his  neck,  of  which 
the  happy  Raffaello  Santi  was  to  speak,2  and  his  youth  is 
barren  of  all  joy  and  tender  affection.  Ret  other  men 
employ  a questionable  ingenuity  in  discovering  some 
Eros  at  once  chaste  and  perverse,3  in  his  platonic  poetry, 
— composed,  almost  all  of  it,  in  the  decline  of  life,  negli 
anni  assai  ; for  my  part,  that  which  strikes  me  in  his  son- 
nets, in  his  letters,  in  all  his  work,  is  to  find  there  neither 
mention  nor  suggestion  of  the  merry,  jocular  authors  so 
much  in  vogue  at  that  time,  nothing  which  brings  to 
mind  Pulci,  Ariosto,  Boccaccio;  his  own  favourite  reading 
is  the  poema  sacro  of  Dante,  the  sermons  of  Savonarola, 
the  Bible,  especially  the  Old  Testament,  whose  fierce, 

1  Rime,  edition  Guasti,  p.  102. 

2  ‘ 1 Quanto  fu  dolce  el  giogo  e la  catena 
De  suoi  candidi  braci  al  col  mio  volti." 

Sonnet  of  Raffaello,  written  with  his  own  hand  on  a page  of 
sketches  for  the  great  fresco  of  the  Disputa.  The  page  is  pre- 
served at  Oxford.  Robinson,  Critical  Account,  pp.  189  and  357. 

3  See  among  others  L.  V.  Shepper,  Michel- Angelo , eine  Renais- 
sancestudie,  Altenburg,  1892. 


74 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


imposing  heroes  fascinate  his  imagination.  A man  of  good 
family,  “ noble  as  any  in  Florence,”  he  seeks  no  Courts 
of  princes;  but  he  has  a horror  too  of  the  bottega , and  not 
less  a horror  of  Bohemia,  — if  it  be  permitted  to  employ 
that  expression  in  speaking  of  the  sixteenth  century. 
The  zeal  of  his  house  hath  eaten  him  up;  it  is  to  restore  it 
that  he  labours,  that  he  is  urgent  to  have  his  pay  in  full 
and  even  would  be  glad  “to  gain  wealth”;  his  personal 
needs  and  pleasures  are  of  the  simplest,  the  most  sum- 
mary. He  has  not  the  vagabond  humour  of  a Eionardo,  a 
Perugino,  an  Andrea  Sansovino;  it  is  but  in  a moment 
of  despair,  in  a fit  of  discouragement,  that  he  forms  the 
project  of  Constantinople  or  of  Paris,  only  to  abandon  it  at 
once;  his  two  poles  of  attraction  remain  always  Florence 
and  Rome,  the  city  of  his  birth,  which  he  loves  as  a 
patriot,  and  the  Eternal  City,  which  alone  can  offer  him 
a field  vast  enough  for  his  gigantic  conceptions.  Family, 
country,  liberty,  honour, — these  are  not  idle  words  to 
him:  they  make  all  his  moral  being  vibrate;  but  they  rend 
it  also,  in  the  midst  of  the  unconquerable  contradictions 
of  life;  and  the  rendings  will  become  more  and  more 
tragic  as  the  contradictions  grow  greater.  Profoundly 
religious,  he  has  that  thirst  after  the  infinite  which  is  the 
torment  while  it  is  the  mark  of  honour  of  elect  souls,  and 
the  grave  problems  of  life,  of  the  creation,  of  righteous- 
ness, and  of  salvation,  preoccupy  him  as  they  do  no  one 
among  his  rivals,  no  one,  I dare  to  say,  among  his  con- 
temporaries in  Italy.  He  is  the  Pensieroso  of  the 
Renaissance. 

In  his  vocation  of  artist,  he  brings  to  all  that  he  under- 


On  the  Threshold  of  the  Sistina  75 


takes,  or  even  attempts,  a conscientious  energy,  a gravity 
that  is  almost  terrible.  And,  for  example,  that  naturalism 
which  is  the  great  thought  of  the  Quattrocento  he  pursues 
quite  otherwise  than  did  a Donatello,  an  Uccello,  a Polla- 
iuolo, an  Andrea  del  Castagno;  he  carries  his  study  of 
nature  into  its  most  sombre  and  frightful  recesses,  he  fol- 
lows it  beyond  the  limits  of  life,  into  the  very  shadow  of 
death, — among  the  corpses  that  he  dissects  year  after 
year,  in  the  hospital  of  San  Spirito.  It  is  the  same  in  re- 
gard to  classic  antiquity,  whose  models  more  and  more 
known  and  appreciated,  invited  the  skill  of  the  fifteenth 
century.  Michelangelo  does  not  limit  himself  to  merely 
borrowing  from  this  antiquity  certain  details  of  decora- 
tion, of  adjustment,  of  drapery,  of  ornamentation,  as  did, 
before  his  time,  “the  precursors  of  the  Renaissance”; 
he  struggles  hand  to  hand  with  the  classic  models  col- 
lected in  the  Medicean  Gardens,  and  he  reproduces  cent- 
aurs, cupids,  the  Bacchus,  the  Hercules,  freely  and  with 
independence.  He  sees  at  a glance  and  from  his  first 
attempts  in  Florence,  what  neither  a Donatello  nor  a 
Mantegna  ever  saw,  notwithstanding  all  their  genius;  he 
recognises  and  appropriates  the  fundamental  principle  of 
ancient  sculpture,  that  the  expression  of  the  head  is  by  no 
means  the  ovine  tulit punctum,  but  that  the  same  breath 
of  life  must  animate  and  penetrate  equally  all  parts  of  the 
body.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  he  comprehends  much  less 
the  mystic  principle  in  Christian  art,  or  rather,  he  com- 
prehends only  too  well,  and  by  intuition,  how  that 
element  is,  in  its  nature,  destructive  of  all  form,  and 
openly  hostile  to  the  world  of  the  senses.  He  will  never 


76 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


dwell  in  the  ethereal  regions  of  Orcagna  and  Fra  An- 
gelico, nor  ever  will  he  speak  the  language  of  symbols 
and  emblems,  so  dear  to  the  masters  of  the  Trecento; 
the  sculptor,  the  plastic  artist  will  be  in  this  regard 
stronger  in  him  than  the  disciple  of  Savonarola,  stronger 
than  the  enthusiastic  reader  of  Dante.  His  empyrean 
will  never  be  a dream,  a vision,  as  it  was  to  the  monk  of 
Fiesole;  he  will  require  the  three  dimensions  of  every 
object  — of  all  the  things  that  are;  his  allegories  will  not 
be  merely  the  known  and  circumstantial  signs  of  certain 
ideas,  as  with  Giotto;  they  will  assume  to  be  their  in- 
herent, their  absolute  personification. 

He  is  not,  however,  so  far  from  the  thought  of  Giotto 
and  of  Giovanni  Pisano  as  one  might  as  first  sight  be 
tempted  to  believe;  he  even  comes  very  near  them,  in  his 
instinctive  search  for  an  art  more  ideal  and  monumental, 
more  energetic  and  impassioned,  than  was  known  to  the 
generation  of  the  latter  years  of  the  fifteenth  century,  the 
generation  of  Mino,  of  Ghirlandaio,  of  Perugino.  This 
instinct  is  already  revealed  in  the  relief  of  the  Centaurs, 
preserved  in  the  Casa  Buonarroti , a composition  entirely 
juvenile,  but  of  astounding  force  and  impetuosity;  it 
breaks  out  in  its  full  strength  when  Michelangelo,  at  one- 
and-twenty,  touches,  for  the  first  time,  the  soil  of  Rome, 
and  is  allowed  to  contemplate  the  stately  ruins  and  the 
wondrous  marbles  of  the  Eternal  City.  At  sight  of  these, 
his  genius  breaks  forth,  and  the  daimon  within  him  is 
unchained. 


CHAPTER  VI 


ROMAN  MARBLES 

One  of  the  most  charming  and  most  sincerely  emotional 
pages  of  the  humanist  literature  of  the  fifteenth  century 
is,  in  my  judgment,  the  little  essay  of  Poggio  Bracciolini, 
entitled  De  fortuna;  varietale  urbis  Roma.  Seated  one 
day  with  his  honourable  colleague,  Antonio  Toschi,  on 
the  hill  of  the  Capitol,  “ like  Marius  amid  the  ruins  of 
Carthage,”  the  Apostolic  Secretary  of  Martin  V.  casts  a 
saddened  glance  over  this  city,  which  formerly  ruled  the 
world,  and  now  lies  extended  at  his  feet,  “ like  the  life- 
less body  of  a giant,  despoiled  of  his  weapons,  and  covered 
with  wounds.”  Even  more  sad  than  its  overthrowing  by 
foreign  foes  seems  to  Poggio  the  ravages  which  the  city 
has  never  ceased  to  make  upon  itself.  This  building  op- 
posite, with  the  double  row  of  arcades,  which  is  now  the 
public  storehouse  of  salt,  was  once  the  Tabularium,  — the 
great  record-office  of  the  Republic, — where  were  pre- 
served, on  tables  of  bronze,  the  laws  and  the  treaties  of 
the  people-king;  the  salt  now  gnaws  its  walls,  its  pillars, 
even  the  inscription  of  the  edifice;  it  is  only  with  difficulty 
that  the  name  of  Q.  Tutatius  Catulus  can  be  deciphered! 
‘‘The  first  time  that  I was  in  this  city,  the  temple  of  Con- 
cord below  us”  (of  Saturn , rather)  “ was  still  standing, 
and  almost  entire*  since  then,  the  inhabitants  have  com- 


77 


78 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


pletely  destroyed  the  marble  edifice, — a few  columns  of 
the  portico  alone  remaining.  ’ ’ And  the  humanist  pursues 
in  this  vein  his  variations,  full  of  a learned  melancholy 
upon  the  sad  theme  of  locus  ubi  Roma  fuit , enumerating 
the  temples,  the  porticos,  the  thermae,  the  theatres,  the 
aqueducts,  the  arches,  the  palaces,  all  vanished,  or  in 
ruins.  Among  the  marble  statues  still  preserved,  Poggio 
names  but  five,  and  among  these  the  Horse-Tamers  (of 
Monte  Cavallo),  at  that  time  in  the  Baths  of  Constantine. 
The  Marcus  Aurelius  in  bronze  had  its  place  before  the 
Uateran.  He  relates  also  that  in  his  time  there  had  been 
disinterred,  in  a garden  near  Santa  Maria  sopra  Minerva, 
“a  reclining  statue,  larger  than  any  that  had  yet  been 
found  in  the  city,” — the  Nile , namely,  now  one  of  the 
finest  ornaments  of  the  Braccio  Nuovo — but  that  the  pro- 
prietor, annoyed  by  the  crowd  of  visitors  brought  around 
him  by  the  discovery,  had  chosen  to  reinter  it. 

Very  different  from  this  picture,  drawn  by  Bracciolini 
in  the  year  1430,  was  the  aspect  which  Rome  presented 
near  the  close  of  the  same  century,  at  the  momeut  when 
the  young  Michelangelo  saw  it  for  the  first  time  (the 
summer  of  1496).  Under  the  sway  of  the  humanist  Popes, 
the  indifference  of  other  days  for  the  masterpieces  of  an- 
tiquity had  given  place,  in  the  City  of  the  Seven  Hills,  to 
a passionate  enthusiasm,  to  a cult  almost  a state  religion. 
It  was  still  the  practice,  it  is  true  (and  alas!  remained  so 
long  after  this  time),  to  ruin  the  ruins , to  take  away  for 
various  buildings  in  process  of  construction  blocks  of 
stone  and  columns  from  the  Colosseum  and  from  the 
theatre  of  Marcellus;  but  the  smallest  fragments  of  classic 


Statue  of  Apollo 

See  p.  82 


78 


Rome  and  th-.  Renaissance 


pletcly  best  ••  i marble  edifice  —a  columns  of 

A-  . 1' r • i st  pursues 
in  • ' variations,  full  of  alea;  melancholy 

urine  of  locus  ubi  Roma  numerating 

• . the  porticos,  the  therm»-  * ù .atres,  the 
the  arches,  the  palaces,  a):  -J,  or  in 

;g  the  marble  statues  s' Poggio 
« ut  five,  and  among  these  the  f!  ' timers  (of 
ite  Cavallo),  at  that  time  in  th i . « o .fantine. 
. ie  Marcus  Aurelius  in  bronze  h:  I»  f-hu  • before  the 

7 -teran.  He  relates  also  that  in  1.:  time  i nere  had  been 
disinterred,  in  a garden  near  Sant;  ' ri»  *up:-a  Minerva, 
“a  reclining  statue,  larger  than  a»’-  H.ib  yet  been 
found  in  the  city,” — the  Nile , name  i«  - • ue  of  the 
finest  ornaments  of  the  Braccio  Nuov>  • 1 lie  pro- 
prietor, annoyed  by  the  crowd  of  visi'  - « : -round 

him  by  the  discovery,  had  chosen  to  rvw 

Yerv  different  from  this  picture,  di  ciolini 

\ ar  1430,  was  the  aspect  whici  ■ sented 

close  of  the  same  century,  at  th  • r when 

Michelangelo  saw  it  for  : ; 'irne  (the 

u . Under  the  sway  of  tin  ma  - [’opes, 
ì -•  :e  of  other  days  for  the  r •■■■'  • res  of  an- 

■ ji\  en  place,  in  the  City  of  the  Seven  Hills,  to 
•..'  u. ite  enthusiasm,  to  a cult  almost  .ute  religion, 

il  the  practice,  it  is  true  (and  ,d  ; u ained  so 

lor  . t»T  this  time),  to  ruin  the  ruins , to  take  away  for 
various  buildings  in  process  of  construction  blocks  of 
stone  and  columns  from  the  Colosseum  and  from  the 
theatre  of  Marcellus;  but  the  smallest  fragments  m classic 


ojjo'iA  ho  hutatS 


Roman  Marbles 


79 


sculpture,  on  the  other  hand,  were  eagerly  sought  for, 
were  bought  at  any  price,  and  were  treasured  with  jealous 
care.  In  search  of  them  the  soil  cf  Rome  and  of  the 
Campagna  was  ransacked  again  and  again;  Ostia  es- 
pecially was  an  inexhaustible  mine  of  precious  sculpt- 
ures. Already  Nicholas  V.  had  made  a beginning  of  the 
Museum  of  the  Capitol,  and  Sixtus  IV.  had  farther  en- 
riched it.  Paul  II.  had  made  for  himself  another  Museum 
in  his  palace  of  San  Marco.  Following  the  example  of 
the  pontiffs  every  man  in  Rome  who  prided  himself  on 
good  taste  and  culture,  the  cardinals  Riario,  Savelli, 
Grimani,  the  bishop  Colocci,— made  it  a point  to  have 
his  collection  of  anticaglie , as  was  the  expression  of  the 
day.  The  most  successful,  the  most  intelligent  of  these 
collectors  is  the  Cardinal  Giuliano  della  Rovere,  bishop 
of  Ostia,  and  future  Pope.  Rudely  handled  in  the  politi- 
cal warfare  of  the  Borgia  reign,  driven  even  to  take  refuge 
in  France  for  a time,  he  nevertheless  had  been  able  to 
collect  in  his  splendid  palace  of  the  Santi  Apostoli  (now 
the  Colonna)  or  in  his  cardinalic  dwelling  near  San  Pietro 
in  Vincoli,  a quantity  of  those  magnificent  marbles  that 
were  destined  before  many  years  to  form  the  splendour  of 
the  Belvedere. 

With  such  means  of  information  as  are  now  at  our  dis- 
posal, it  is  unfortunately  not  possible  to  make  an  exact 
list  of  the  antique  sculptures  which  Rome  possessed  in  the 
last  years  of  the  fifteenth  century;  but  it  is  quite  beyond 
doubt  that  in  number  as  well  as  in  quality  they  incom- 
parably surpassed  all  those  that  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent 
had  been  able  to  collect  in  Florence.  In  the  Medicean 


8o 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


Gardens,  the  young  Michelangelo  had  had  before  him 
nothing  beyond  models  of  the  second  or  third  order1:  it 
was  only  on  the  banks  of  the  Tiber  that  the  true  master- 
pieces of  classic  art  were  revealed  to  him;  and  tradition 
treasures  up  more  than  one  winged  and  rapturous  word 
spoken  by  him  at  sight  of  many  a marble  which  we  now 
see  in  Rome.2  Add  to  this  the  effect  that  Rome  of  itself 
produced,  with  its  monuments  and  ruins,  with  its  memor- 
ies and  its  horizons,  the  kind  of  shock  and  enlargement, 
to  use  Goethe’s  expressive  word,  that  it  never  fails  to  give 
to  every  soul  of  noble  lineage;  and  one  can  have  some 
idea  of  the  vast  revolution  which  must  have  taken  place 
at  this  time  in  the  mind  of  Bertoldo’s  pupil. 

I am  not  unaware  that  critics  who  speak  with  authority 
have  recently  conceived  the  idea  of  ascribing  the  honour 
of  this  revolution  to  another  city  than  Rome,  and  to  other 
than  Roman  models;  the  impassioned  and  superb  sculpt- 
ures of  Jacopo  della  Quercia  in  the  portal  of  San  Petronio 

1 The  most  remarkable  of  the  antiques  now  in  the  Uffizi,  such  as 
the  Arrotino , the  Wrestlers , the  group  of  Niobe,  were  not  yet  dis- 
covered at  the  period  of  which  we  speak. 

2 In  his  precious  opuscule  Delle  Statue  antiche  che  per  tutta 
Roma  si  veggono  (1550)  Ulisse  Aldrovandi  notes  briefly  Michel- 
angelo’s opinion  upon  more  than  one  of  these  marbles.  Among 
the  favourite  works  of  the  great  artist,  Ulisse  mentions  the  Lion 
Devouring  a Horse , which  is  now  in  the  court  of  the  Palace  of 
the  Conservatori.  Buonarroti  also  greatly  admired  the  sculptures 
of  the  Column  of  Trajan.  After  having  spoken  one  day  to  Paul 
III.  in  regard  to  merits  and  faults  of  Titian  and  the  Venetian 
painters,  Michelangelo  ended  with  the  words  : “ It  is  only  in  Rome 
that  there  is  a Trajan’s  Column,” — at  least,  so  Bernini  relates. 
( Journal  du  voyage  de  Bernini  en  France , published  by  the 
Gazette  des  Beaux-Arts,  xxxi.,  224. 


Roman  Marbles 


81 


are  thought  to  have  struck  the  attention  and  transformed 
the  talent  of  the  young  Michelangelo  as  early  as  the  year 
1494,  in  the  few  months  spent  by  him  in  Bologna.  That 
I venture,  however,  to  refuse  my  adherence  to  an  opinion 
at  the  present  day  very  much  in  favour  is  because  the 
productions  of  the  young  Buonarroti  in  this  same  Bologna, 
in  1494,  or  immediately  after,  in  Florence,1  seem  to  me  in 
no  way  to  manifest  that  change  of  style,  which,  on  the 
other  hand,  at  once  begins  to  appear  with  the  Roman 
epoch.  I am  far  from  denying  the  influence,  and  strong 
reminiscences,  even,  of  the  old  Siennese  sculptor’s  work  in 
the  work  of  Michelangelo;  but  (with  the  exception  per- 
haps of  some  details  of  drapery  and  adjustment)  they  be- 
come really  conspicuous,  it  seems  to  me,  only  in  the  vault 
of  the  Sistine,  after  the  second  stay  in  Bologna,  in  1507, 
a stay  much  more  prolonged  and  significant,  during  which 
was  elaborated  the  bronze  statue  of  Julius  II.  Certain 
great  aspects  of  the  ancient  Tuscan  masters  (not  alone  of 
Jacopo,  but  also  of  Donatello  and  of  Ghiberti)  unperceived 
at  first  by  Bertoldo’s  pupil,  were  finally  — indeed,  many 
years  later — better  felt  and  assimilated  by  the  artist,  now 
much  older  and  having  his  visual  field  prodigiously 

1 Tbe  Angel  of  the  Candelabra , and  the  San  Petronio  of  Bologna; 
the  Satyr  in  the  antique  group  restored  {Bacchus  and  Satyr)  of  the 
Uffizi  ; the  Giovannino  (much  disputed)  in  the  Museum  of  Berlin. 
As  to  the  Adonis  of  the  Bargello,  I have  no  question  that  it  be- 
longs to  a much  later  period  ; its  agitated  pose  is  identically  the 
same  with  that  of  the  Provinces  trodden  under  foot  by  Victories 
in  the  design  in  the  Uffizi  for  the  tomb  of  Julius  II.  Mr.  Heath 
Wilson  asserts  even  that  the  Adonis  is  of  Saravezza  marble  (p.  31); 
in  which  case  the  statue  must  be  of  much  later  date,  the  quarries 
of  Saravezza  not  having  been  opened  till  1517. 

6 


82 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


broadened  by  his  residence  on  the  banks  of  the  Tiber. 
But  it  was  from  these  banks  that  came,  I must  boldly  as- 
sert, the  decisive  impulse,  the  initiative  in  all  things.  For 
the  genius  of  Michelangelo  as  well  as  for  that  of  Bramante 
and  Raffaello,  the  Eternal  City  was  the  supreme  revealer, 
and  the  true  Alma  parens:  “To  be  surprised,”  wrote 
Buonarroti  himself,  nearly  forty  years  later, — “to  be  sur- 
prised that  Rome  produces  divine  men,  is  as  if  one  should 
be  surprised  that  God  works  miracles.”  1 These  emphatic 
words  were  addressed,  very  inappropriately,  it  is  true,  to 
the  famous  Ser  Tommaso  de’  Cavalieri;  but  we  shall  make 
no  mistake  in  applying  them  to  the  architect  of  S.  Peter’s, 
the  painter  of  the  Disputa , and  the  sculptor  of  the  Pietà. 

Among  the  classic  masterpieces  which  were  known  to 
the  young  Buonarroti  from  this  first  residence  in  Rome, 
we  are  now  able  to  mention  with  certainty  the  radiant 
statue  of  the  son  of  Latona  which  still  holds  the  place  of 
honour  in  the  Vatican.2  Discovered  some  years  earlier, 

1 Perchè  quanto  è da  maravigliarsi  che  Dio  facci  miracoli  tanV  è 
che  Roma  produca  uomini  divini.  Lettere , p.  462. 

2 It  had  been  uncertain  at  what  date  the  Apollo  was  brought  to 
light, — general  opinion,  however,  inclining  to  the  year  1500, — 
when,  in  1887,  a discovery  made  in  the  Escoriai,  by  Justi  the  em- 
inent biographer  of  Winckelmann  and  of  Velasquez,  threw  a very 
strong  light  upon  this  question.  It  was  a book  of  Italian  sketches, 
collected  about  1491,  containing  a drawing  of  the  statue  of  the 
Apollo  Belvedere , the  left  arm  still  lacking,  and  the  note  added  : 
Nel  orto  di  San-Petro  in  Vinchola.  There  is  every  reason  to  believe 
that  the  Apollo  was  found  during  the  pontificate  of  Innocent  VIII. 
(See  Jahrbuch  d.  deutsch.  Archaolog.  Institutes , v.,  1890,  article 
of  M.  Ad.  Michaelis);  and  it  can  no  longer  be  doubted  that  Michel- 
angelo was  familiar  with  it  during  his  first  residence  in  Rome, 
and  before  he  executed  the  group  of  the  Pietà. 


La  Pietà  (Michelangelo) 
See  p.  84 


82 


Rome  ami  the  Renaissance 


bro  : ie.  ■ •.  or '.cnee  oi  i the  Tiber. 

Hi  ’ > nks  th  ,t  boldly  as- 

^ the  ; ili  dings.  For 

. .-io;.-  V'  . oi  ilramante 

i ternalC w - r revealer, 

. Alma  parens  To  ■ wrote 

•it  himself,  nearly  To-  y-  •'besur- 

• -o  that  Rome  produces  di'.  n~  -mo  should 

• r surprised  that  God  works  mi:  emphatic 

words  were  addressed,  very  ::  U true,  to 

the  famous  Ser  Tommaso  de’  C;,  -«Hit»  . ùl  make 

no  mistake  in  applying  them  to  t : or.  : Peter’s, 

the  painter  of  the  Disputa,  and  ■ . .o;  Pietà , 

Among  the  classic  masterpiece  . ori  to 

the  young  Buonarroti  from  this  . reso  home, 

we  are  now  able  to  mention  wit;,  ert . W r idiant 
statue  of  the  son  of  Latona  which  still  hold*  the  place  of 
honour  in  the  Vatican.3  Discover  ..;:  sono  earlier, 

.Pe*r hi  quanto  è da  maravigliarsi  che  Dio  facci  mn  tatti  tanV  è 
Is  /duca  uomini  divini.  Lettere,  p.  46a. 

uncertain  at  what  date  . \<  ught  to 

: opinion,  however,  melino  im<-  y var  1500, — 
v.  n vv;:  a discovery  made  in  the  E>w  1 1 the  em- 

M . io  biographer  of  Winckelmanu  and  of  \YUt*jn«  threw  a very 
n«  ,rht  upon  this  question.  It  was  ab  •!  oi  Itoli  n sketches, 

' ut  1491,  containing  a drawing  of  »!  • st-nue  of  the 
dip’ll  io  ' ì vedere,  the  left  arm  still  lacking,  atri  ib<  note  added: 
AV;  dadi  San-Pelro  in  Vinchola.  There  is  every  rr  .on  to  believe 
that  the  Apollo  was  found  during  the  pontificato  .,{  innocent  Vili. 
(See  Joh.  huch  d.  deutsch.  Archàolog.  Institut.  »,  v„  iSgo,  article 
of  M.  Ad.  Michaelis);  and  it  can  no  longer  be  noni  >ied  tlj  it  Michel- 
angelo was  familiar  with  it  during  his  first  res: Jen  >•  in  Rome, 
and  before  he  executed  the  group  of  the  Pietà. 

(OJHOVtAjaHOlM)  athiT  aJ 


Roman  Marbles 


83 


in  one  of  the  numerous  suburban  tenute  of  Cardinal  Giuli- 
ano della  Rovere  (probably  at  Grotta  Ferrata),  it  at  that 
time  adorned  the  garden  of  his  house  near  the  church  San 
Pietro  in  Vincoli.  It  has  become  the  fashion  latterly  to 
depreciate  this  Apollo , once  so  much  extolled;  to  declare 
it  too  elaborate  and  affected,  not  to  say  conceited  and  at- 
titudinising. “ All  he  needs  is  the  gra?id  cordon  of  a for- 
eign order,  ’ ’ a friend  — a man  of  fine  taste  — said  to  me 
lately.  We  have  become  very  hard  to  please  and  very 
important, — insolently  disgusted,  even, — since  a gener- 
ous chance  has  given  us  to  know  the  Elgin  marbles,  the 
Venus  of  Melos , the  Hermes  of  Praxiteles;  we  fear  to  be 
the  dupes  of  misinformed  enthusiasm,  and  imagine  our- 
selves proving  our  own  superiority  when  we  burn  that 
which  Winckelmann  adored.  I question,  however,  if 
even  to-day  we  know,  in  all  the  world,  an  antique  statue 
which  surpasses  or  equals  the  Apollo  of  the  Vatican  as  an 
incarnation  of  human  beaut}',  of  virile  beauty,  “ nude, 
clothed  only  with  an  immortal  springtime/’  to  borrow 
the  language  of  good  old  Winckelmann  himself;  I speak, 
be  it  observed,  of  a statue  present  and  real,  a detached 
figure  entire  and  complete,  not  of  an  esthetic  entity, 
which  with  great  use  of  erudite  deduction  we  are  pleased 
to  construct,  after  some  passage  of  Pausanias  or  Pliny, 
after  some  relief  or  fragment  of  bust  or  torso  found  on 
the  Acropolis  or  in  Olympia.  All  the  verba  magistri  of 
the  University  will  not  hinder  me  from  sharing  the  feeling 
of  the  contemporaries  of  Julius  II.,  and  finding  in  the 
Apollo  of  the  Belvedere  an  ineffable  poetry,  a marvellous 
radiance.  Is  it  not  wonderful,  also,  that  the  god  of  light 


84 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


and  of  the  arts,  that  the  great  Musagetes  should  have 
emerged  from  under  ground,  suddenly,  at  this  solemn  hour 
of  the  Renaissance;  that  he  should  have  made  his  dwell- 
ing with  the  Rovere,  and  received  the  earliest  homage  of 
Michelangelo  ? 

This  homage  was  paid  by  the  young  sculptor  when  he 
sought  inspiration  in  the  god  of  light  as  here  represented 
for  the  Christ  of  his  Pietà  (1498-99).  That  this  remark 
has  not  been  made  long  ago  is  due,  I think,  to  the  uncer- 
tainty in  which  we  all  were  till  very  lately  as  to  the  date 
when  the  Apollo  was  discovered,  and  also  to  the  unlucky 
position  in  which  Buonarroti’s  group  is  placed  in  S. 
Peter’s.  The  contrast  is  extraordinary,  indeed,  and  seems 
almost  to  have  been  the  effect  of  some  deep  malice  of  fate; 
the  Moses , conceived  originally  as  looking  off  from  his 
high  place  on  the  second  stage  of  the  great  mausoleum, 
fifteen  feet  above  one’s  head,  now,  in  the  Pope’s  abridged 
monument,  rests  heavily  upon  the  ground,  directly  on  a 
level  with  the  eye;  while  the  group  of  the  Pietà,  designed 
for  the  level  view,  has  been  placed  high,  upon  a huge  altar, 
so  that  it  is  withdrawn  from  our  sight, — the  figure  of  the 
Christ  especially  becoming  almost  invisible.  If,  however, 
by  changing  your  position  in  all  possible  ways,  you  succeed 
in  grasping  this  admirable  figure  in  its  details  and  in  its 
entity  you  will  without  doubt  become  aware  that  never 
did  Michelangelo  so  successfully  represent  human  beauty 
in  all  grandeur  and  simplicity;  also,  that  never  did  he 
attain,  or  even  aim  at,  a distinction,  an  elegance  so  fault- 
less. There  is  no  trace  here  of  that  impetuosity  and 
muscular  redundance  which  marks  so  strongly,  and 


Roman  Marbles 


85 


often  mars  so  strangely,  his  formidable  anatomy;  the 
flesh  has  a velvety,  exquisite  softness;  the  polish,  incom- 
parably finished  and  harmonious,  creates  for  the  Son  of 
Man  a kind  of  luminous  atmosphere  which  heightens  the 
effect  of  the  figure,  and  detaches  it  from  the  rest  of  the 
composition.  Observe,  then:  beauty,  elegance,  finish, 
and  this  peculiar  lustre, — these  are  the  qualities  which 
even  at  a glance  appear  in  the  statue  of  the  Belvedere 
Now,  since  it  is  agreed  that  in  this  Pietà  the  sculpture  of 
the  Renaissance  made  a closer  approach  to  the  classic 
ideal  than  in  any  other  of  its  creations, — since  the  four 
centuries  from  Condivi ’s  time  until  now  have  not  ceased 
to  proclaim  this  fact  — where  else,  think  you,  did  Buonar- 
roti seek  his  classic  model,  than  in  the  Garden  of  Card- 
inal Giuliano  della  Rovere,  by  the  church  of  San  Pietro 
in  Vincoli  ? 

A Christ  taken  down  from  the  cross,  dead,  denuded, 
and  yet  beautiful, — beautiful  not  only  in  expression  and 
feature,  but  beautiful  in  form, — beautiful  as  the  Apollo , — 
it  was  thus  that  Michelangelo  ventured  to  conceive  a sub- 
ject in  which  all  earlier  sculptors  had  seen  only  a sad  and 
lugubrious  theme.  Every  mark  of  the  death-struggle,  of 
suffering,  or  of  mortuary  rigidity  is  carefully  banished 
from  these  contours,  which  remain  divine  though  dead  ; 
the  stigmata  are  lacking  ; there  is  not  the  slightest  sug- 
gestion that  violence  has  been  inflicted  1 ; neither  is  there 
the  halo;  or  rather,  one  might  say,  it  rests  upon  the 

1 The  great  cross  behind  the  group,  as  it  stands  in  the  chapel  in 
S.  Peter’s,  is  a later  addition,  not  at  all  in  harmony  with  the 
original  idea. 


86 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


whole  figure,  covering  it  with  a vibrating  lustre  which  is 
like  the  perfume  of  the  soul,  like  that  ambrosia  with  which 
Homer  at  times  enveloped  the  gods  of  his  Olympus. 
With  the  head  gently  thrown  back,  the  curling  hair,  the 
almost  beardless  face,  with  the  limbs  reposing  rather  than 
sinking,  the  dead  Christ  is  like  a child  again,- — a child,  as 
before,  lying  in  the  arms  of  the  mother,  whose  great  cloak 
with  its  broad,  heavy  folds  forms  a sombre,  massive  back- 
ground for  the  figure.  The  mother  is  young  also,  young 
and  beautiful  as  when  she  cradled  her  child  upon  her 
knees;  her  face,  bent  over  him,  expresses  love  rather  than 
grief;  the  left  hand  only,  extended  and  opened,  has  an 
expressive  gesture  which  seems  to  say:  “ Is  there  any 
sorrow  like  unto  my  sorrow?”  It  is  with  this  purely 
classic  moderation  that  the  artist  has  treated  the  great 
tragedy  of  Golgotha;  it  is  in  this  language  of  Sophocles 
that  he  relates  the  Passion!  “ The  early  Christians,”  it 
has  been  very  justly  said,  “ the  Christians  who  were  yet 
animated  by  the  breath  of  classic  art,  would  thus  have  re- 
presented the  Pietà."  And,  indeed,  in  the  présence  of 
this  work  of  Michelangelo,  one’s  thought  unconsciously 
recurs  to  some  gentle  painting  of  the  catacombs,  some 
mosaic  of  the  Good  Shepherd  in  the  mausoleum  of  Galla 
Placidia  at  Ravenna. 

The  Pietà  was  one  of  the  latest  works  of  the  young 
Buonarroti  during  this  residence  in  Rome  late  in  the  fif- 
teenth century;  his  earlier  Roman  works  are  far  from 
presenting  the  character  of  tranquillity,  I was  about  to 
say,  of  gentle  emotion,  which  surprises  and  charms  us  in 
this  group.  His  Cupid  (or  rather,  Apollo  f)  and  his 


Roman  Marbles 


87 


Bacchus , both  executed  earlier  (1497-98)  for  Jacopo 
Gallo,1  have,  on  the  contrary,  that  sharp  accent  of  ten- 
sion and  agitation  which  was  to  increase  with  years,  and 
become  the  ineffaceable  stamp  of  his  Promethean  genius. 

How  gladly  would  one  follow  the  development  of  that 
genius,  during  these  five  Roman  years  (1496-1500)  ! What 
a pleasure,  also,  to  know  the  impression  that  men  and 
things,  at  that  time,  in  Rome  made  upon  him!  It  was 
the  pontificate  of  Alexander  VI.,  and  Cesare  Borgia  was 
beginning  his  career  of  perfidies  and  crimes.  On  the  14th 
of  July,  1497,  took  place  that  assassination  of  the  Duke  of 
Gandia  which  shocked  the  world,  and  is  recalled  in  a 
style  so  placid  by  Burchard,  the  master  of  ceremonies. 
The  Italian  soil  still  trembled  under  the  tramp  of  the 
armies  of  Charles  VIII.,  passing  and  repassing,  like  a 
cyclone;  and  men  were  all  the  time  looking  for  new  in- 
vasions. From  Florence  came  tidings  daily  of  strifes  be- 
tween piagnoni  and  arrabiati,  and  of  the  triumphs  and 
the  extravagances  of  Savonarola. 

Michelangelo  was  no  piagnone , no  fanatical  and  active 
partisan  of  the  Ferrarese  reformer  During  all  this  mem- 
orable struggle  in  Florence,  he  remained  quietly  in  the 
City  of  the  Seven  Hills,  occupied  with  his  labours,  caring 
for  his  art.  It  is  a great  mistake  to  represent  him  as  a 
consistent,  uncompromising  republican,  eager  for  action 
and  combat;  he  was  above  all  things  an  artist,  and  con- 
cerned himself  in  politics  only  by  fits  and  starts,  im- 
mediately regretting  that  he  had  done  so,  and  never 

'The  Cupid  is  now  in  the  Kensington  Museum,  the  Bacchus  in 
the  Bargello. 


88 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


prohibiting  himself  from  a return  to  “ the  tyrants.”  His 
devotion  to  the  Prior  of  San  Marco  did  not  prevent  his 
soliciting  an  order  from  Cardinal  Raffaello  Riario,  or  from 
accepting  one  (for  the  Pietà ) from  the  Cardinal  of  Saint 
Denis;  as,  in  after  years,  while  directing  the  defence 
of  San  Miniato,  he  still  went  on  with  his  Medicean 
mausoleum.  It  is  nevertheless  true  that  he  had  a deep 
and  ardent  admiration  for  Savonarola  and  retained  it  to 
the  end  of  his  life.  His  elder  brother  Leonardo,  carried 
away  by  the  eloquence  of  the  tribune-monk,  had  become 
a Dominican;  he  himself  was  always  in  communication 
with  Sandro  Botticelli,  at  that  time  in  full  sympathy  with 
the  piagnoni  ; and  he  wrote  to  his  other  brother  in  March, 
1497,  to  employ  all  means  to  induce  the  ‘‘santo  Fra 
Girolamo”  to  come  to  Rome,  never  doubting  that  a few 
sermons  from  ‘‘the  prophet”  would  suffice  to  bring  all 
the  Roman  world  “ to  adore  him.” 

It  was  for  the  Cardinal  of  Saint  Denis,  as  I have  said 
(more  exactly,  the  Cardinal  Jean  Villiers  de  la  Groslaie, 
abbé  of  Saint  Denis  and  French  ambassador  at  Rome), 
that  Buonarroti  executed  the  Pietà,  and  we  are  still 
in  possession  of  the  contract  made  in  the  artist’s  name 
(himself  then  absent,  in  Carrara)  by  his  friend  Jacopo 
Gallo,  who  adds,  on  his  own  account:  “ And  I,  Jacopo 
Gallo,  promise  his  very  Reverend  Rordship  that  the  said 
Michelangelo  shall  finish  the  said  work  in  the  space  of 
one  year  and  that  it  shall  be  the  most  beautiful  work  in 
marble  in  Rome,  and  that  no  living  master  shall  be  able 
to  make  one  as  beautiful.”  The  contract  bears  date  the 
26th  of  August,  1498.  Three  months  earlier,  Savonarola 


Statue  of  David  (Michelangelo) 

See  p.  gì 


88 


Renaissance 


prosi 


rn.  It  is  ìievertheh  - 
.nr  . Sent  admiration  for  Sav  • 
..id  of  his  life.  His  elder  « 
away  by  the  eloquence  of  the  tr 


ter  years,  w 
M ruato,  he  still  we? 


;lf  from 

prior  of  S.ui  M 


mts.”  His 
• prevent  his 
rio,  or  from 
linai  of  Saint 
, t he  defence 
licean 
• a deep 
-rained  it  to 
» ■ ardo,  carried 
. had  become 


a Dominican;  he  himself  was  rUs  -oinmunication 

with  Sandro  Botticelli,  at  that  t ? mpathy  with 


re  exactly,  the  Cardinal  Jean  >h  ■ noslaie, 

j-  : Denis  and  I i.  nboanewlor  at  Rome), 

■ rroti  executed  the  • n still 

il,  >n  of  the  contract  made  in  tin.  '-.t  s name 

(hh  --  ' then  absent,  in  Carrara)  by  hi:-  Jacopo 

Gallo,  who  adds,  3n  his  own  account:  Jacopo 

Gaik),  promise  his  very  Reverend  Lords'-  , m the  said 
Michelangelo  shall  finish  the  said  work  ie  space  of 
one  year  and  that  it  shall  be  the  most  beautiful  work  in 
marble  in  Rome,  and  that  no  living  master  sh  til  be  able 
to  make  one  as  beautiful.”  The  contract  bears  date  the 
August,  1498.  Three  months  earlier,  Savonarola 


the  piagnoni;  and  he  wrote  to  hi.- 
1497,  to  employ  all  means  to 
Girolamo”  to  come  to  Rome,  .• 
sermons  from  ‘ ‘ the  prophet  ' wi 
1.  • Roman  world  “ to  adore  him 


-,  ! <:’.■  in  March, 
santo  Fra 
g that  a few 
’ < - bring  all 


ii  was  for  the  Cardinal  of  Sa 


..il  ave  said 


(ojaoMAjaHoiM)  ciivaCI  ao  3UTAtS 

.A  ^2. 


) 


Roman  Marbles 


89 


had  perished  at  the  stake.  Is  it  rash  to  suppose  that  the 
shade  of  the  martyr  hovered  over  a work  undertaken  so 
soon  after  the  catastrophe;  that  this  poignant  memory 
relaxed  for  a moment  the  Titan’s  rigid  soul,  and  inspired 
a work  where  Christian  resignation  harmoniously  com- 
bined and  blended  itself  with  classic  serenity  ? It  is  a 
strange  thing  that  the  least  typical,  in  certain  respects 
the  least  Michelangelesque  of  all  Buonarroti’s  produc- 
tions, is  perhaps  also  the  most  personal.  It  is  the  only 
one,  also,  that  he  ever  signed  with  his  name;  this  is  cut 
upon  the  Virgin’s  shoulder-belt. 

Without  attaining  the  touching  poetry  and  the  stately 
amplitude  of  this  Mater  Dolorosa,  the  Madonna  of  Bruges, 
and  the  two  Reliefs  of  the  Bargello  and  of  the  National 
Gallery  (the  Virgin  and  Child  and  V.  John)  have  such  a 
kinship  of  sentiment  and  execution  with  the  Pietà  that  I 
do  not  hesitate  to  bring  them  together  in  time  and  place, 
and  date  them  also  from  the  latter  months  of  the  residence 
in  Rome.  These  four  religious  sculptures  constitute  a dis- 
tinct group  in  the  work  of  Buonarroti,1  and  represent,  in 
the  history  of  his  art,  a phase,  short,  almost  fugitive,  which 
one  gladly  recognises,  and  is  sometimes  conscious,  with 
surprise,  of  regretting.  It  is  the  moment,  in  fact,  when 
thought  and  form,  with  the  immortal  Florentine,  appear 
in  perfect  equilibrium;  when  all  is  due  proportion,  har- 
mony, clearness;  a moment  unique,  irrecoverable,  that 
one  would  gladly  arrest  in  its  flight,  conjuring  it  with  the 

1 How  different  from  these  are  the  Christ  of  the  Santa  Maria 
sopra  Minerva  (1521),  and  the  Virgin  in  the  Mausoleum  of  the 
Medici  ! 


9° 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


cry  of  Faust:  “ Stay,  do  not  vanish,  thou  art  so  fair!” 
Vain  appeal!  it  was  the  destiny  of  the  Pietà  to  be  but  an 
incident  in  the  immense  labour  of  this  genius  — ostendunt 
fata  ! — and  esthetic  principles  of  quite  another  nature  were 
to  be  derived  by  Ber  toldo’s  pupil  from  the  marbles  of  Rome. 

First,  he  was  to  gain  from  them  the  great  teaching  that 
the  ancients,  the  masters  — maestri  di  color  che  sanno  — 
surpassed  nature  in  size,  that  their  plastic,  like  their 
scenic,  art  required  its  cothurnus.  These  colossal  Horse- 
Tamers,  this  Apollo , this  Nile , and  the  rest  manifestly 
belonged  to  a humanity  different  from  our  own, — ideal, 
grander  than  ours,  surpassing,  not  alone  in  splendour 
but  also  in  proportions,  the  reality  which  surrounds  us, 
that  reality  which  the  naturalists  of  the  Quattrocento  had 
been  wont  to  reproduce  with  so  much  candour  and  dili- 
gence. Then,  he  became  aware  that  to  a humanity  thus 
grandly  conceived  the  ancients  knew  how  to  give  a corre- 
sponding life,  an  intense  animation,  an  overflowing  energy, 
a passionate,  dramatic  accent.  These  Horse- Tamers  make 
their  horses  feel  all  the  bridle’s  force,  and  impose  obedi- 
ence with  angry  vehemence;  this  Apollo  is  all  movement 
and  petulance.  You  seem  to  hear  his  arrows  vibrate  in 
the  quiver,  the  eyAaylav  of  Homer.  Lastly,  Buonarroti 
early  understood,  as  I have  said,  the  powerful  means 
of  action  and  expression  that  was  afforded  to  the  an- 
cients by  the  traditional  absence  of  clothing  from  their 
statues:  the  human  body,  proudly  nude,  reflecting  and  de- 
veloping in  all  its  members  the  motif  of  the  work  and  its 
ruling  thought.  From  the  sole  of  his  foot  to  the  coronet 
of  hair  surmounting  his  forehead  like  a flame,  the  Apollo 


Roman  Marbles 


91 


is  all  vibrant  with  emotion  and  triumph;  from  the  sole 
of  the  foot  to  the  dripping  hair  and  beard,  the  Nile  is  all 
fecundity,  abundance,  vigour.  The  colossal,  the  impas- 
sioned, the  nude, — these  are  the  three  great  principles 
which  Buonarroti  derived  from  the  Roman  marbles,  and 
made  thenceforth  the  constituent  elements  of  his  own 
art.  Whether  he  handles  the  chisel  or  the  brush,  whether 
he  borrows  his  theme  from  the  classic  world  or  from  the 
Christian, — or,  it  may  be,  from  another  world  quite  new, 
unknown,  which  haunts  and  stimulates  him,— everywhere 
and  always,  he  will  henceforth  apply  these  three  funda- 
mental principles.  He  will  never  be  false  to  them,  he 
will  never  make  them  give  way;  too  often,  indeed,  he  will 
exaggerate  them;  and  then  the  colossal  will  come  very 
near  being  the  monstrous,  — the  impassioned,  the  gro- 
tesque and  convulsive;  and  the  exuberance  of  muscles 
and  plastic  forms  will  serve  only  to  obscure  the  idea,  in- 
stead of  accentuating  it  and  rendering  it  more  striking. 

Take  for  example  the  David,  the  first  important  crea- 
tion of  Michelangelo  after  his  return  from  Rome  in  1501. 
After  Judith,  the  young  conqueror  of  Goliath  was  evid- 
ently the  most  popular  of  Biblical  heroes  with  the  Floren- 
tines of  the  fifteenth  century;  the  Bargello  has  no  less 
than  three  charming  reproductions  of  this  subject — two 
by  Donatello  and  one  by  Verocchio;  I remember  also  a de- 
licious little  work  of  Pollajuolo  which  is  one  of  the  gems 
of  the  Berlin  Museum.  That  which  the  old  Tuscan  mas- 
ters chiefly  saw  in  a theme  like  this  was  the  boy,  modest 
and  slender,  who,  by  a great  miracle  of  God,  emerged 
victorious  from  a combat  with  a formidable  giant.  He  is 


92 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


a slim,  short-clad  figure  in  Verocchio’s  work,  in  appear- 
ance not  unlike  a girl  ; thus  Pollajuolo  also  conceives  him. 
If  Donatello  represents  him  nude  in  one  of  his  two  works 
(the  one  in  bronze),  it  certainly  is  not  to  make  a show  of 
his  muscular  strength;  it  is  to  indicate  his  station,  a poor 
shepherd,  frail  in  body,  and  protected  only  by  a hat  from 
the  burning  heat  of  the  sun.  The  two  sculptors  as  well  as 
the  painter  have  chosen  the  moment  of  repose,  the  moment 
after  the  struggle;  the  lad  has  his  foot  upon  the  giant’s 
head,  and  seems  amazed,  almost  appalled,  at  his  own  vic- 
tory. How  different  the  David  of  Buonarotti!  To  begin 
with,  he  is  a colossus,  and  the  sculptor  sets  himself  the 
impossible  task  of  making  us  accept,  as  a boy’s  figure,  a 
statue  eighteen  feet  in  height;  at  sight  of  such  a bambino 
as  this,  you  ask  yourself  in  amazement  of  what  size  could 
his  adversary  Goliath  have  been  ? He  is  nude  from  head 
to  foot,  obligingly  showing  the  sculptor’s  anatomical 
skill,  marvellous  and  incomparable.  He  frowns,  his  look 
is  sombre,  his  lips  compressed,  his  air  haughty,  aggress- 
ive; and  here,  for  the  first  time,  he  is  represented  before 
the  victory,  in  the  passionate  moment  of  the  attack.  Is 
this  indeed  the  David  of  the  Bible  ? The  Florentine  pop- 
ulace never  called  him  by  any  other  name  than  il  Gigante; 
an  ancient  writer  would  doubtless  have  called  him  the 
Athlete,  or  the  Gladiator. 

In  the  Bacchus  and  the  Cupid , which  were  executed  in 
Rome  for  Jacopo  Gallo,  and  are  both  so  oddly  original, 
in  the  Adonis  of  the  Bargello,  in  the  bold  design  for  a S. 
Matthew  in  the  Academy  of  Florence,  as  well  as  in  what 
we  know  of  the  famous  cartoon  of  the  War  of  Pisa,  for- 


Roman  Marbles 


93 


ever  lost,—  we  recognise  at  once  the  same  traits  of 
grandiose  conception,  inspired  by  the  marbles  of  Rome; 
in  the  project  of  the  tomb  for  Pope  Julius  II.,  in  1505, 
the  tendency  is  already  towards  the  Titanic.  And  here 
we  should  note  an  important  discovery,  made  on  the 
14th  of  January,  1506,  while  Michelangelo  was  working 
at  the  mausoleum  in  his  studio  near  the  Vatican,  and  the 
Piazza  di  S.  Pietro  was  strewn  with  his  blocks  of  Carrara. 
This  discovery  was  a real  event  in  the  world  of  the  Re- 
naissance, and  Buonarroti  was  not  a stranger  to  it. 

“I  was  at  that  time  a boy  in  Rome,”  1 wrote  sixty 
years  later,  Francesco  da  Sangallo,  the  son  of  Giuliano, 
the  architect,  ‘‘when  one  day  it  was  announced  to  the 
Pope  that  some  excellent  statues  had  been  dug  out  of  the 
ground  in  a vigna  near  the  church  of  Santa  Maria  Mag- 
giore. The  Pope  immediately  sent  a groom  to  Giuliano 
da  Sangallo  to  tell  him  to  go  directly  and  see  what  it  was. 
Michelangelo  Buonarroti  was  often  at  our  house,  and  at 
the  moment  chanced  to  be  there;  accordingly  my  father 
invited  him  to  accompany  us.  I rode  behind  my  father 
on  his  horse  and  thus  we  went  over  to  the  place  desig- 
nated. We  had  scarcely  dismounted  and  glanced  at  the 
figures,  when  my  father  cried  out:  ‘ It  is  the  Raocoon  of 
which  Pliny  speaks  ! ’ The  labourers  immediately  began 
digging  to  get  the  statues  out;  after  having  looked  at 
them  very  carefully,  we  went  home  to  supper,  talking  all 
the  way,  of  antiquity.” 

Never  had  any  ancient  monument  produced  so  much 
emotion,  excited  such  transports,  as  this  marble  group 

1 The  letter  is  published  by  Fea,  Miscellanea , voi.  i.,  p.  329. 


94 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


found  in  the  vigna  dei  Sette  Sale.  “All  Rome,’’  wrote 
immediately  Sabadino  degli  Arienti  to  Isabella  of  Mantua, 
— “ all  Rome,  cardinals  and  people,  hasten  by  night  and 
day  to  the  vigna  : it  is  a like  a Jubilee.”  1 A tumulary 
inscription  which  can  still  be  read  in  the  church  of  Ara 
Coeli  — in  the  pavement  of  the  left  transept,  not  far  from 
the  chapel  of  S.  Helena  — promises  “immortality”  to 
Felice  de  Fredis,  the  lucky  owner  of  the  vineyard,  ob 
proprias  virtutes  et  repertum  Laocohontis  divinum  simu- 
lacrum. Julius  II.  hastens  to  acquire,  at  the  owner’s 
price,  the  precious  find,  and  to  construct  for  it  a special 
cappelletta  in  the  Belvedere.  Sadoleto,  the  great  humanist 
and  future  cardinal,  praised  it  in  Latin  verses,  which  went 
the  world  over  and  were  even  thought  worthy  of  praise 
by  Lessing.  Arriving  at  the  Vatican  as  a hostage  in 
1510,  Federico  di  Gonzaga,  a boy  of  twelve,  was  eager  to 
have  a copy  of  this  opera  divina  made  for  his  mother;  the 
conqueror  of  Marignan,  five  years  later,  in  his  interview 
with  Leo  X.  at  Bologna  will  prefer  to  ask  frankly  for  the 
original  itself;  and  one  may  imagine  the  Pope’s  embar- 
rassment in  the  presence  of  a monarch  no  less  powerful 
than  indiscreet.  The  popularity  of  Vergil,  the  precise 
indications  given  by  Pliny,  the  pathos  of  the  subject,  the 
grandeur  of  the  conception,  and  the  admirable  character 
of  the  work  all  united  to  captivate  men’s  minds  at  the 
sight  of  this  remarkable  antique.  “ The  choice  of  the 
moment  in  this  composition  is  without  equal  in  the  world; 
dramatic  contrasts  here  become  the  most  beautiful  of 

1 See  Giornale  storico  della  litteratura  italiana,  Torino,  xi.,  p. 
212. 


94 


koine  and  the  Renaissance 


found  'dgna  dei  Sette  Sale.  “All  Rome,”  wrote 

" 'badino  degli  Alienti  to  L A .la  of  Mantua, 
> Rome,  cardinals  and  people,  hash.  . by  night  and 
day  to  th.  , it  is  a like  a Jubilee  \ tumulary 
! can  still  be  read  in  t -1  • ch  of  Ara 
the  pavement  of  the  left  tra n i far  from 

.apel  of  S.  Helena  — promises  dity”  to 

Felice  de  Fredis,  the  lucky  owner  c eyard,  ob 

propri  as  virtutes  et  repcrtum  La,coh<  am  simu- 
lacrum. Julius  II.  hastens  to  aequo  > owner’s 

price,  the  precious  find,  and  to  constai  a special 

cappelletta  in  the  Belvedere.  Sadoleto,  th.  uiraanist 

and  future  cardinal,  praised  it  in  Latin  vc  ' . h went 

the  world  over  and  were  even  thought  word.  praise 
by  Lessing.  Arriving  at  the  Vatican  as  ige  in 

1510,  Federico  di  Gonzaga,  a boy  of  twelve,  :ger  to 

have  a copy  of  this  opera  divina  made  for  his  > ■vo  r;  the 
conqueror  of  Marignan,  five  years  ! iter,  hi  m interview 
with  Leo  X.  at  Bologna  will  prefer  to  ask  in  nkly  for  the 
original  itself;  and  one  may  imagine  the  Pope’s  embar- 
ta  merit  in  the  presence  of  a.  monarch  v>  less  powerful 
than  indiscreet.  The  popularity  of  \ ,d  the  precise 
indicati.,  v given  by  Pliny,  the  pathos  o e subject,  the 
grandeur  of  the  conception,  and  the  ad  Fie  character 

of  the  work  all  united  to  captivate  ■ minds  at  the 

sight  of  this  remarkable  antique.  he  choice  of  the 
moment  in  this  composition  is  withou  d in  the  world; 
dramatic  contrasts  here  become  tin  mist  beautiful  of 

2i2See  sfarino,  xi.,  p. 

\q  A Xi 


Roman  Marbles 


95 


plastic  contrasts;  the  inequality  of  the  two  boys  as  to  age, 
figure,  and  power  of  resistance  is  marvellously  balanced 
by  the  terrible  diagonal  which  the  figure  of  the  father 
makes;  the  group,  simply  regarded  as  such,  is  absolute 
perfection.  If  now  you  pass  to  detail,  and  question  the 
wherefore  of  each  motif , and  the  degree  in  which  physical 
and  mental  sufferings  are  blended,  veritable  depths  of 
artistic  knowledge  open  before  you.”  1 

Thus  speaks  in  our  own  time  one  of  the  most  competent 
of  judges,  and  one  least  inclined  to  extravagant  com- 
mendation. Can  we  wonder,  then,  that  the  men  of  the 
Renaissance  cried  out  “ A prodigy!  ” and  that  this  work 
of  the  three  Rhodian  sculptors  appeared  to  them  an  em- 
bodiment of  all  that  the  ancients  have  related  of  the 
genius  of  a Pheidias  and  a Praxiteles?  In  1522,  during 
the  pontificate  of  Adrian  VI.,  the  Venetian  envoys  re- 
ported from  Rome  to  the  Signory  that  the  Apollo  was 
thought  of  no  more,  all  the  world  being  occupied  with 
the  Laocoon. 

The  Prodigy, — il  portento: — this  was  the  appellation 
which  Michelangelo  gave  to  the  work  of  Agesandros  and 
his  two  comrades.  He  felt  a religious  respect  for  this 
marble;  he  dared  not  touch  it, — he,  who  had  taken 
pleasure  in  restoring  many  antique  statues,  did  not  aspire 
to  replace  the  missing  arm  of  the  Trojan  priest.  Was  it 
not,  indeed,  a miracle,  this  discovery  made  under  his 
own  eyes  in  the  vigna  of  Felice  de  Fredis  — like  a provi- 
dential consecration  of  all  the  ideas  that  he  had  long  be- 
fore formed  for  himself  of  the  true  conditions  of  high  art  ? 

1 Burckhardt,  Cicerone , fifth  ed.,  voi.  i.,  p.  147. 


9<3 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


The  nude,  the  colossal,  and  the  impassioned  — was  it  not 
precisely  this  lesson  that  the  group  of  the  Laocoon  taught, 
with  the  power  and  authority  of  the  most  sublime  of 
known  masterpieces  ? And,  a thing  not  less  marvellous, 
in  the  space  of  a few  years, — a little  after  or  a little  before 
the  Laocoon, — other  great  antiques,  in  different  degrees 
appreciated  and  extolled, — the  group  of  the  Antcsus , the 
Torso  of  the  Belvedere,  the  Cleopatra , the  Tiber , and  the 
Nile , — were  successively  exhumed  from  this  prolific  Ro- 
man soil,  all  bearing  the  same  character  and  teaching  the 
same  lesson!  All  these  marbles  seemed  to  come  forth 
from  their  tomb  that  they  might  testify  in  favour  of  the 
ideal  conceived  by  Buonarroti.  To  this  ideal,  which  he 
had  half  beheld  in  his  David , which  he  had  dreamed  of 
in  his  project  of  the  mausoleum,  he  was  now  about  to  give 
visible  form  by  a furious  labour  of  five  years  in  the  mys- 
terious chapel, — “ his  cave  on  Carmel,”  as  it  has  so  well 
been  called.  He  was  to  live  there,  an  Elias,  and  have 
none  to  talk  with  but  prophets  and  sibyls. 


CHAPTER  VII 


A VIEW  OF  THE  RINASCIMENTO 

There  were  but  few  people  that  afternoon  in  the  Sis- 
tina, and  I was  able,  without  being  too  much  disturbed,  to 
go  over  the  paintings  of  the  vault  at  my  leisure.  Thanks 
to  relations  already  of  long  standing  with  the  custode,  it 
was  permitted  me  to  ascend  to  the  gallery  which  stretches 
along  the  wall  under  the  windows.  One  is  most  uncom- 
fortable on  this  frightfully  narrow  balcony,  and  only  a 
part  of  the  immense  work  can  be  seen  from  here  ; but  it 
can  be  seen  close  at  hand,  in  all  its  splendour  and 
terribilità.  The  height  of  the  position,  to  which  the 
insipid  chatter  that  goes  on  below  can  never  ascend; 
the  almost  certain  solitude  (for  seldom  does  tourist  en- 
counter the  fatigue  of  the  stairs);  the  play  of  the  sunlight 
upon  layers  of  dust  and  cobwebs  which  form  for  the 
apocalyptic  figures  surrounding  one  a vaporous  atmo- 
sphere specked  with  gold;  all  this  produces  an  indescrib- 
able impression,  and  does  not  fail  to  plunge  one  into 
strange  reveries.  After  a time  it  seemed  to  me  that  I 
was  upon  the  famous  “ bridge,”  built  here  in  the  month 
of  August,  1508,  under  Michelangelo’s  direction,  for  the 
beginning  of  his  work.  I seemed  to  be  crouching  in  a 
corner,  panting  and  scarcely  daring  to  breathe;  a few 

steps  distant  the  great  master  was  transferring  his  cartoon 
7 


97 


98 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


to  the  fresh  plaster  of  a portion  of  the  wall.  Suddenly 
a shade  came  behind  the  artist,  touching  him  on  the 
shoulder;  it  spoke  thus: 

“ You  deceive  yourself,  Buonarroti,  and  many  men  are 
deceived  with  you.  You  take  for  the  supreme  expansion, 
the  very  apogee  of  grand  art,  that  which  is  but  its  de- 
cline, its  decadence.  Your  prodigies  of  the  Belvedere, — 
the  Laocoon,  the  Torso,  the  Apollo, — have  nothing  in 
common  with  the  golden  age  of  sculpture,  that  Age  of 
Perikles,  of  which  Poliziano,  Bembo,  Castiglione,  tell 
you,  on  the  faith  of  authors  known  to  them.  You  have 
before  you  only  the  work  of  epigonoi , — of  the  school  of 
Rhodes  or  Pergamos, — of  the  posthumous  epoch  of  the 
true  Hellenic  genius.  The  source  of  lofty  inspirations 
had  been  dried  up,  the  divine  fire  had  been  long  extinct, 
when  this  aftermath  of  an  unparalleled  harvest  sought, 
by  force  or  by  finesse,  by  passion  or  by  grace,  to  fill  the 
place  of  the  touching  simplicity  or  the  severe  beauty 
that  the  earlier  masters  were  able  to  give  to  their  sublime 
conceptions.  Of  these  earlier  masters,  Italy  has  no 
longer  one  single  original,  authentic  work.  The  idea  of 
a Polykleitos  or  a Praxiteles  perhaps  survives,  and  shines 
out  again  here  and  there  in  some  Roman  marble  repre- 
senting an  athlete,  a satyr,  or  a Venus;  but  the  work 
itself  is  of  later  date,  mostly  of  the  period  of  the  Empire  ; 
it  is  a work  at  second  or  third  hand,  a reproduction 
generally  feeble  and  unskilful,  made  from  the  old  van- 
ished, inimitable  model.  All  that  you  see  are  only 
copies  of  perished  masterpieces,  or  even  only  copies  of 
copies.  . . . 


A View  of  the  Rinascimento 


99 


“ But  grand  art  is  yet  visible  upon  this  earth,  Buonar- 
roti ; the  Age  of  Perikles  exists  yet,  in  the  most  magnificent 
of  all  its  creations.  Eastward  there,  two  days’  distance 
from  the  Straits  of  Messina,  on  a barren  rock  scorched  by 
the  sun,  rises  the  Parthenon,  almost  intact,  with  its 
metopes,  its  friezes,  its  tympana.  The  Turk  is  now  its 
careless  guardian, — that  very  Bajazet  with  whom,  in  a 
moment  of  weakness,  you  thought  to  take  service;  — but 
only  half  a century  ago,  the  masters  of  the  Akropolis  were 
Christians,  were  Italians,  even.  Half  a century  ago,  a 
Florentine  family,  well  known  to  you,  and  deserving  of 
commemoration, — the  Acciaiuoli, — reigned  in  Athens, 
and  had  already  had  for  a hundred  years  their  palace 
in  the  Propylaia.  The  relations  between  Tuscany  and 
Attika  were  animated  and  frequent,  the  taste  for  beautiful 
things  was  already  widespread,  the  passion  for  antiquity 
in  all  its  effervescence;  and  it  will  be  the  wonder  of  ages 
to  come  that  none  of  the  numerous  visitors  to  the  Akro- 
polis in  the  time  of  the  Acciaiuoli  should  have  been  struck 
by  the  incomparable  majesty  of  the  Pheidian  sculptures, 
should  have  made  known  their  presence,  and  brought  the 
good  news  home  to  the  Medicean  world.  Posterity  will 
likewise  find  it  hard  to  understand  how  the  temples  of 
Paestum  could  have  escaped  the  notice  of  your  architects, 
men  admirable  for  genius  and  industry;  Brunelleschi, 
Alberti,  Sangallo,  Bramante.  They  pore  over  Vitruvius 
with  ardour;  they  have  measured  every  fragment  of  a 
column,  carefully  examined  every  base  and  every  capital 
that  they  found  lying  on  Roman  ground,  without  ever 
suspecting  that  three  superb  temples,  the  noblest  examples 


IOO 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


of  Doric  architecture,  were  within  their  reach,  upon  Italian 
soil,  a few  miles  distant  from  Salerno.  For  long  years  yet 
to  come,  these  marvels  of  Poseidonia  and  of  Athens  will 
vainly  solicit  the  notice  of  your  artists,  the  curiosity  of 
your  humanists;  and,  even,  a day  will  come  — a day  for- 
ever accursed!  — when  an  admiral  of  Venice  will  attack 
the  Parthenon, — will  destroy  the  most  august  monument 
of  the  Grand  Age:  and  that  immense  disaster  will  occur 
unnoticed,  will  arouse  no  echo  of  grief,  in  a century  espe- 
cially classic , and  proud,  as  no  other  has  ever  been,  of  its 
cult  for  the  Greeks  and  Romans! 

“ Your  mistake,  Buonarroti,  is  made  by  all  the  world, 
all  the  brilliant  minds  who  have  inaugurated  in  Italy  a 
return  to  the  classic  ideal,  an  enthusiastic  study  of  those 
models  of  harmony  and  beauty  which  the  ancients  left  in 
their  works.  This  enthusiasm  has  been  from  the  be- 
ginning tumultuous  and  confused;  men  could  not  dis- 
tinguish the  diverse  merits  or  the  multiform  phases  of  a 
broad  development  which  had  its  youth,  its  maturity,  and 
its  decline  ; and  they  preferred  the  productions  of  the  de- 
cline, of  the  Alexandrian  or  Roman  period,  because  these 
were  more  widely  diffused,  more  accessible,  easier  to  un- 
derstand, easier  also  to  imitate.  Thus  Vergil,  whom  your 
Dante  took  for  his  guide,  ‘ his  author,’  will  long  be  pre- 
ferred among  you  to  Homer;  thus  Horace  will  be  preferred 
to  Pindar;  thus  Seneca,  to  the  great  Athenian  dramatists. 
In  the  arts  of  design  the  mistake  will  be  the  wider  and 
deeper,  because  the  remaining  monuments  of  the  Golden 
Age  will  be  more  rare  and  difficult  of  access;  and  if  by 
chance  they  are  seen,  they  will  obtain  no  hold  upon  a 


Laocoon.  See  p.  93 


IOO 


ki.uu:  and  the  Renaissance 


• were  within  their  reach,  upon  Italian 
' c > F or  loner  years  yet 

• tris  ol  •.  ! of  Athens  will 

. notice  of  v ■ - the  curiosity  of 

■ • mists;  and,  even,  a Ay.  tsy.  a day  for- 

■ : ' — when  an  adii'  ''reni'  • ,11  attack 

tenon, — will  destroy  I! u:  ■ . • ' monument 

u-  Grand  Age:  and  that  nume  -,  ill  occur 

noticed,  will  arouse  no  echo  of  gne»‘.  in  a century  espe- 
(lassie,  and  proud,  as  no  oth-  ; h ever  1 -een,  of  its 
cult  for  the  Greeks  and  Romans! 

“Your  mistake,  Buonarroti,  is  - >.  nil  rhe  world, 
■lie  brilliant  minds  who  have  r rated  in  Italy  a 
• urn  to  the  classic  ideal,  an  er.t  >usia.  studv  of  those 
■ Is  of  harmony  and  beauty  v.  ; • touts  left  in 

works.  This  enthusiasm  i rom  the  be- 

tumultuous  and  confused  ; men  could  not  dis- 
■ e diverse  merits  or  the  usuiti  torn  phases  of  a 
’clopment  which  had  its  youth  it-,  maturity,  and 
and  they  preferred  the  product  - of-  the  de- 
Alexandrian  or  Roman  per  if/ 1 because  these 
• '»ly  diffused,  more  accessi  sjer  to  un- 

-uer  also  to  imitate.  Thus'.  hum  your 

}'■>.  ' •-  for  his  guide,  ‘his  author,'  be  pre- 
te: red  among  you  to  Homer;  thus  Horn"  . referred 

to  l indar;  thus  Seneca,  to  the  great  At!  ii  amatists. 

};i  the  arts  of  design  the  mistake  will  a ider  and 

deeper,  because  the  remaining  mum  me; > •:  the  Golden 

Age  will  be  more  rare  and  difficult  of  access;  and  if  by 
chance  they  are  seen,  they  will  obtaio.no  hold  upon  a 

ÌS  XOODO/.vJ. 


A View  of  the  Rinascimento 


IOI 


people  already  fashioned  on  different  models  which  have 
deluded  them,  and  have  been  accepted  by  them  as  repre- 
senting classic  tradition  par  excellence,  and  ideal  perfection. 

“ This  illusion  is  destined  to  last  for  centuries;  it  will 
overspread  the  world,  and  only  be  dispelled  after  a long 
time  under  the  influence  of  new  currents  of  thought,  the 
rivalries  of  nations,  and  of  very  extraordinary  discoveries. 
A growing  interest  in  popular  poetry  in  different  lands, 
a study  of  indigenous  traditions  and  legends,  will  have 
the  result  of  bringing  out  very  clearly  the  natural  charm, 
the  masterly  simplicity,  the  vernal  freshness  of  the  Ionian 
epic.  Impassioned  arguments  as  to  the  merits  of  the 
drama  in  one  country  or  another,  will  lead  to  a critical 
examination  and  a supreme  appreciation  of  the  tragedies 
of  Aischylos  and  Sophokles.  The  vacation  trip  of  an  ob- 
scure painter  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Salerno  will  sud- 
denly reveal  the  temples  of  Psestum  and  the  sublime 
majesty  of  Greek  architecture.  Two  little  provincial 
cities  buried  by  the  eruption  of  a volcano  will  suddenly 
come  forth  from  their  tombs,  shaking  off  their  shrouds  of 
ashes  and  of  lava;  and  the  splendour  of  their  bronzes,  the 
grace  of  their  mural  paintings,  of  their  jewels,  and  even 
of  their  mere  utensils  of  everyday  life,  will  supply  the 
scale — very  reduced,  it  is  true,  but  very  expressive  also — 
of  what  must  have  been  the  grand  art  of  the  grand  period. 
Notions  long  accepted  as  to  the  classic  ideal  will  insens- 
ibly undergo  gradual  revision;  the  distinction  will  be 
made  between  the  original  and  the  copy;  the  Hellenic 
genius  and  the  Roman  genius  will  each  receive  its  due 
share  in  the  joint  heritage  left  to  the  world  by  antiquity. 


102 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


“ After  this  will  come  a century  resembling  no  other  in 
its  ardour  of  research  and  its  universality  of  comprehen- 
sion. This  age  will  study  the  languages,  religions,  and 
arts  of  all  peoples,  in  their  remotest  origins,  and  in  their 
most  brilliant  developments.  The  classic  ideal  it  will 
reconstruct,  piece  by  piece,  with  its  epics,  its  dramas,  its 
temples,  and  its  world  of  statues.  It  will  question  eagerly 
the  mutilated  fragments  of  Athens  and  of  Olympia,  of 
Pergamon  and  of  Rhodes;  it  will  re-establish  the  chain  of 
the  ages  from  the  marbles  of  Selinous  and  Aigina  down 
to  the  uncouth  reliefs  of  the  Constautinian  Arch  ; and  it 
will  assign,  with  marvellous  sagacity,  to  its  date  and  its 
school  each  fragment  of  antiquity.  But  — eternal  irony 
of  mortal  things! — this  century,  so  admirable  in  its  broad 
investigations  and  its  extensive  knowledge,  will  create — 
will  produce  — nothing;  and  its  insatiable  curiosity  even 
will  be  the  fatal  mark  of  its  incurable  sterility!  Once 
more  poor  human  nature  will  renew  the  experience  so 
often  made  before,  even  from  the  earliest  period  of  the 
world,  that  the  tree  of  knowledge  is  not  the  tree  of  life! 

“ And,  from  the  height  of  this  vault,  after  these  ages 
have  gone  by,  you  can  still,  Buonarroti, — like  Jehovah 
Himself,  whose  incomparable,  immortal  type  you  have 
here  created,— you  can  still  look  upon  your  work,  and 
see  that  it  is  good;  and  defy  the  coming  generations  to  do 
better,  or  even  to  approach  it.  . . .” 

Signore , si  chiuda  ! cried  the  custode  from  below,  im- 
patient for  his  liberty  and  his  buona  mancia. 


CHAPTER  Vili 


A FAMILY  SANCTUARY  (1505-1508) 

A league  and  a half  north-east  from  Rome,  beyond  the 
Ponte  Nomentano  and  not  far  from  the  place  now  called 
Vigne  nuove,  the  pedestrian  will  observe,  along  the  road, 
remains  of  walls  whose  origin  seems  to  date  from  the  time 
of  the  Csesars.  Antiquaries  entertain  the  opinion  that 
here  was  the  villa  of  the  freedman  Phaon,  where  Nero 
took  refuge  from  the  outbreak  in  Rome,  and  where  he,  at 
last,  with  trembling  hand,  took  his  own  life, — regretting 
most  of  all  “ the  great  artist  of  whom  Rome  was  about  to 
be  deprived.”  A woman,  once  his  mistress,  and,  accord- 
ing to  some  accounts,  a Christian,  succeeded  in  concealing 
the  Emperor’s  body  from  the  outrages  of  the  populace,  in 
burning  it  clandestinely,  and  in  transporting  the  ashes  to 
the  not  very  remote  mausoleum  of  the  Domitian  family. 
‘‘The  monument  can  be  seen,”  says  Suetonius,  “ from 
the  Campus  Martius  [the  Corso]  rising  on  the  Hill  of 
Gardens  [the  Pincio];  the  sarcophagus  is  of  porphyry, 
surmounted  by  an  altar  of  Luna  stone,  with  a balustrade 
around  it  in  marble  of  Thaos.  . . 1 The  tomb  of  a 

Nero  could  not  fail,  in  mediaeval  Rome,  to  be  haunted  by 
demons;  they  nested  particularly  in  a walnut-tree  which 
grew  near  by,  and  spread  terror  throughout  the  region, 

1 Suetonius,  Nero , 50. 

103 


104 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


until  Pope  Paschal  II.  with  his  own  hands  cut  down  the 
fatal  tree,  and  ordered  the  tyrant’s  ashes  to  be  thrown 
into  the  Tiber.  The  neighbourhood  of  the  Pincio  was 
thus  delivered,  at  the  beginning  of  the  twelfth  century, 
from  the  evil  spirits  which  had  so  long  infested  it;  and 
the  grateful  Romans  built  on  the  spot  a chapel  which  took 
the  name  of  Santa  Maria  del  Popolo. 

Situated  on  the  very  edge  of  the  city,  by  no  means  im- 
posing from  antiquity,  relics,  or  traditions, — for  nothing 
was  more  ordinary  in  the  Middle  Ages  than  a story  of  the 
expulsion  of  demons, — Santa  Maria  del  Popolo  only  be- 
came famous  when  the  Rovere  selected  it  as  their  favourite 
and  domestic  sanctuary.  Sixtus  IV.  was  pleased  to  offer 
there  his  devotions,  to  celebrate  there  with  pomp  the  im- 
portant events  of  his  pontificate;  Julius  II.,  later,  pro- 
claimed under  its  roof  the  Holy  Teague;  in  this  church, 
also,  he  placed  the  Madonna  of  Loretto,  and  his  own  por- 
trait,—splendid  works  of  Raffaello,  now  no  longer  there. 
It  is  not  easy  to  account  for  the  choice  made  by  the  two 
Tigurian  pontiffs  of  a little  quasi-suburban  church,  in 
preference  to  so  many  more  illustrious  — in  preference, 
notably,  to  San  Pietro  in  Vincoli,  of  which  both  were 
titulars,  or  the  Santi  Apostoli,  which  was  almost  a part  of 
their  family  palace  (now  the  Palazzo  Colonna).  In  review- 
ing the  various  religious  edifices  in  Rome  that  the  Rovere 
built,  restored,  or  embellished  with  so  much  zeal  and  lib- 
erality, one  is  surprised  also  to  notice  that  in  this  number 
there  is  not  a single  church  of  the  Minorite  brethren; 
there  is  no  trace  of  their  munificence  at  Ara  Coeli,  San 
Francesco  a Ripa,  or  San  Pietro  in  Montorio.  Sixtus 


Church  of  Santa  Maria  ok l,  Popolo 


0,10*1  ocI  aau  aimaM  atkacì  ho  h'jhuhO 


and  the  K*  a irne 


. uia!  . I.  with  his 

own  the 

;.o,v:  tree.  u*vd  ordered  the  tyrant  •• 

thrown 

io  to  the  Tiber.  The  neighhourh  •• 

m io  was 

thus  delivered,  at  the  beginning  o*  tt  . 

eiitury, 

from  the  evil  spirits  which  had  so  h ■ „ 

.1;  and 

the  grateful  Romans  built  on  the  q 
the  name  of  Santa  Maria  del  Po;<  • 

h took 

Situated  on  the  very  edge  oi"  the.  rue 

leans  im- 

posing  from  antiquity,  relics,  or  t.  • • 

iothing 

was  more  ordinary  in  the  Middle  A.,- 

of  the 

expulsion  of  demons, — Santa  Marin 

: ly  be- 

came  famous  when  the  Rovere  weiecti 

courite 

and  domestic  sanctuary.  Sixt  is  T 

* o offer 

there  his  devotions,  to  celebrate  tin- 

..he  im- 

portant  events  of  his  pontificate  h 

o r,  pro- 

claimed  under  its  roof  the  Holy  1.*, 

durch, 

also,  he  placed  the  Madonna  of  l • 

n 

o 

7 

trait, — splendid  works  of  Raffaello 

• *here. 

It  is  not  easy  to  account  for  the  cl,  > 

. two 

Rigurian  pontiffs  of  a little  quasi  -, 

in 

preference  to  so  many,  more  illustri' 

::nce, 

notably,  to  San  Pietro  in  Vincoli  * 

were 

titulars,  or  the  Santi  Apostoli,  which 

irt  of 

tlu-ir  family  palace  (now  the  Pala/  ■■ 

view- 

the  various  religions  edifice:-,  i 

vere 

hui’t.  restored,  or  embellished  with 

,nd  lib- 

•me  is  surprised  also  to  notice  w 

■ mnber 

• it  a single  tmrch  «6  the  * 

tnren; 

trace  of  their  »u’i.u  . 

i,  San 

eo  a Ripa,  or  San  Piet»  in  ? 

Sixtus 

A Family  Sanctuary  (1505-1508)  105 

IV.,  however,  and  Julius  II.  both  began  their  career  as 
Franciscan  monks.  They  were  not  very  good  Francis- 
cans, it  must  be  owned,  and  the  gentle  saint  of  Assisi 
would  scarcely  have  been  able  to  recognise  as  his  own 
either  the  accomplice  of  the  Florentine  Pazzi,  or  the 
soldier  of  Mirandola.1 

It  still  remains  extremely  interesting  to  every  studious 
mind  — this  church  at  the  foot  of  the  Pincio,  which  the 
first  della  Rovere  rebuilt  from  floor  to  ceiling  (1472-77). 
No  place  in  Rome  better  exhibits  the  art  of  the  closing 
Quattrocento:  architecture,  painting,  and  sculpture  areali 
of  remarkable  harmony  (disturbed  only  by  the  opulent 
Chigi  Chapel,  and  the  unlucky  additions  of  Fontana  and 
Bernini),  and  many  portions  are  an  agreeable  surprise 
in  their  quite  unusual  preservation.  The  architecture  is 
sober,  almost  severe,  of  a kind  very  common  in  Rome  to- 
wards the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century,  before  the  arrival 
of  Sangallo  and  Master  Donato  da  Urbino.  The  fagade 
is  simple,  slightly  impaired  in  its  upper  portion  by  an  ill- 
judged  restoration2;  the  interior,  with  its  three  naves, 
and  pilasters  flanked  by  half -columns,  appears  too  low, 
and  does  not  sufficiently  set  off  the  octagonal  dome  with 
its  solid  drum;  but  this  dome,  the  first  of  its  kind  in 
Rome,  is  the  indication  of  a dawning  taste  for  centralised 
buildings,  of  which  S.  Peter’s  was  later  to  be  the  consum- 
mate expression.  In  the  lateral  chapels,  notably  those 

1 I speak  of  Rome  only  ; it  is  just  to  remember  that  both  of  the 
Ivigurian  Popes  showed  much  solicitude  for  the  P'ranciscan  sanct- 
uaries of  Assisi  and  Roretto. 

'2  One  of  the  frescos  in  the  great  hall  of  the  hospital  Sau  Spirito 
(painted  in  the  time  of  Sixtus  IV.)  shows  the  original  facade. 


ioó 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


on  the  right,  the  talent  of  Pinturicchio  and  his  comrades 
is  displayed,  graceful  and  facile,  while  numerous  sepul- 
chral monuments  in  marble  reveal  sculptors  for  the  most 
part  unknown,  but  of  superior  endowments.  On  these 
monuments  we  read  many  other  names  of  the  della  Ro- 
vere family, — a Domenico,  a Giovanni,  a Cristoforo, — and 
family  names  of  Cibo,  Albertoni,  Mellino,  Pallavicino, 
Chigi.  One  is  conscious  of  being  in  a church  to  which 
two  powerful  Popes  have  been  particularly  devoted,  and  to 
which,  accordingly,  the  kinsmen  and  friends  of  these  Popes 
have  added,  in  their  measure,  works  worthy  of  the  place. 

In  this  sanctuary  of  family  and  friendship,  Julius  II.  at 
the  beginning  of  his  reign,  conceived  the  original  idea  of 
granting  sepulture  and  a monument  to  a rival,  an  enemy, 
an  adversary  once  formidable,  and  long  eager  to  destroy 
him.  The  Cardinal  Ascanio-Maria  Sforza  was,  in  1492, 
the  principal  author  of  the  scandalous  election  of  Alex- 
ander VI.  ; he  was  so  from  hatred  to  Giuliano  della 
Rovere,  whose  accession  to  the  pontificate  (not  having 
been  able  to  secure  the  tiara  for  himself)  he  was  resolved 
to  prevent  at  any  price.  He  was  Vice-Chancellor  of 
the  Holy  Church,  the  Borgia’s  right  hand;  and  from 
the  hostility  of  these  two  men  leagued  against  him,  the 
nephew  of  Sixtus  IV.  was  forced  to  seek  refuge  in  a for- 
eign country.  Then  began  for  the  Rovere  a life  of  exile 
and  struggles,  a life  of  unsuccessful  intrigues  and  agita- 
tions, while  the  star  of  Cardinal  Sforza  was  always  in  the 
ascendant  in  Italy,  thanks  especially  to  a brother’s  im- 
mense fortune, — for  his  friendly  relations  with  the  Borgia 
had  not  been  lasting.  This  brother  was  the  infamous 


A Family  Sanctuary  (1505-1508)  107 

Ludovico  il  Moro,  “ the  Perikles  of  Milan,”  the  protector 
of  Bramante  and  Lionardo  da  Vinci,  the  murderer  also 
of  his  kinsman  Galeazzo,  and  the  usurper  of  the  latter’s 
throne;  “ homme  tres  saige ,”  says  Corny nes,  “ mais  fort 
craintif  et  souple  quand  il  avait  paour , et  homme  sans  foy, 
s'  il  veoit  son  prouffit pour  la  rompre."  He  did  break  faith 
so  often  that  he  ended  by  ruining  himself;  a traitor  to- 
wards all  the  world,  he  was  in  turn  betrayed  by  his  Swiss 
mercenaries;  and  in  his  fall  he  dragged  down  the  Card- 
inal. The  two  brothers  were  carried  prisoners  into 
France  (1500);  but  the  Vice-Chancellor  of  the  Holy 
Church  suffered  a captivity  much  less  rigorous  than  the 
dispossessed  Duke  of  Milan;  George  of  Amboise,  the 
powerful  Cardinal-Minister  of  Louis  XII.,  who  dreamed 
all  his  life  of  the  tiara,  thought  it  wise  to  deal  consider- 
ately with  this  maker  of  Popes;  he  even  took  the  Italian 
with  him  to  Rome  to  attend  the  Conclave  of  1503,  after 
the  death  of  Alexander  VI.,  in  the  somewhat  naif  hope  of 
finding  in  Cardinal  Sforza  a useful  auxiliary  for  his  own 
ambitious  projects.  Welcomed  on  his  return  with  en- 
thusiasm by  the  Roman  populace,  Ascanio  naturally 
thought  of  nothing  but  to  become  Pope  himself.  This 
time,  again,  as  in  the  Conclave  of  1492,  the  Rovere  and 
the  Sforza  were  pitted  against  each  other;  this  time,  also, 
a third  man  was  elected;  but  the  pontificate  of  Pius  III. 
lasted  only  twenty-six  days,  and  finally  the  nephew  of 
Sixtus  IV.  ascended  the  throne  of  S.  Peter.  The  Card- 
inal of  Amboise  proposed  to  take  back  with  him  into 
France  the  criminal,  his  prisoner;  but  Julius  II.  perempt- 
orily forbade  this;  and  the  Vice-Chancellor  was  allowed 


io8 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


to  remain  in  Rome,  and  employ  himself  in  schemes  for  the 
recovery  of  Milan.  He  died  not  long  after  (May  28, 
1505),  over- fatigued  in  hunting,  at  the  age  of  sixty;  and 
the  Rovere  decided  to  erect  for  him  a superb  mausoleum  : 
“ Forgetting  disagreements  and  mindful  only  of  the  dis- 
tinguished virtues  of  the  deceased,”  says  the  epitaph.1 
There  was  pride,  no  doubt,  in  such  an  act,  but  there  was 
also  much  generosity,  and  perhaps  even  courage:  honours 
like  these  decreed  to  a Sforza,  proscribed  and  despoiled  by 
France,  not  being  adapted  greatly  to  please  King  Louis 
XII.,  master  of  Lombardy,  whose  susceptibilities  the 
Pope  had  every  reason  at  this  moment  to  consider. 

A mausoleum  of  a character  so  exceptional  could 
scarcely  have  the  modest  proportions  of  the  other  tombs 
of  Santa  Maria  del  Popolo.  We  are  in  1505,  and  a pro- 
ject for  a tomb  conceived  by  Michelangelo  had  already 
involved  the  complete  reconstruction  of  S.  Peter’s;  for 
the  tomb  of  the  Sforza,  it  was  needful  to  do  no  more  than 
rebuild  one-half  of  the  church  which  had  been  erected 
thirty  years  earlier  by  Sixtus  IV.  Bramante  wàs  to  en- 
large the  choir  materially;  Pinturicchio  to  paint  its  vault, 
William  of  Marsillat  to  decorate  the  windows2  ; and  for 

1 “ D.  O.  M.  Ascanio  Mariae  Sfortiae  Vicecomiti.  . . . Dia- 

cono card.  S.  R.  E.  vico  cancellano.  ...  In  secundis  rebus 
moderato,  in  adversis  summo  viro  . . . Julius  II.  pontifex 

maximus,  virtutum  memor  honestissimarum , contentionum 
oblitus,  sacello  a fundamentis  erecto  posuit  MDV.” 

2 The  chronology  of  these  reconstructions  in  the  choir  of  Santa 
Maria  del  Popolo  is  very  clearly  established  by  Schmarsow  (Pin- 
turicchio in  Rom , p.  82,  seq.)  ; but  the  date  1505  on  the  monument 
indicates  only  the  year  of  the  Cardinal’s  death  ; Andrea  did  not  come 
to  Rome  till  1506.  (See  Vasari , Ed.  Milanesi,  voi.  iv.,  p.  515.) 


Monument  of  Cardinal  Pallavicini 


io8  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


to  remain  in  Rome,  and  employ  himself 

B)es  for  the 

recover}’  of  Milan.  He  died  not  lor. 

May  28, 

1505I.  • a l in  hunting,  at  the 

sixty;  and 

tb  ..  : ■.•■ded  to  erect  for  him  a -■ 

mausoleum: 

.'  disagreements  and  mimi; 

•f  the  dis- 

.  ; . x virtues  of  the  deceased.'1 

ci  itaph.1 

i ocre  was  pride,  no  doubt,  in  such  ■ 

. there  was 

also  much  generosity,  and  perhaps  < m . 

.honours 

like  these  decreed  to  a Sforza,  prose;  i: 

‘.spoiled  by 

V- ranee,  not  being  adapted  greatly  h- 

>ng  Louis 

XII. , master  of  Lombardy,  who*  » 

• ties  the 

Pope  had  every  reason  at  this  mon  eot 

jti  . (Jt>r 

A mausoleum  of  a character 

could 

scarcely  have  the  modest  proportions 

tombs 

of  Santa  Maria  del  Popolo.  We  ao  ■ 

a pro- 

ject  for  a tomb  conceived  by  Mich-.  ; 

1 ready 

involved  the  complete  reconstruct k 

s';  for 

the  tomb  of  the  Sforza,  it  was  need: 

acre  than 

rebuild  one-half  of  the  church  u . 

.1  erected 

thirty  years  earlier  by  Sixtus  IV. 

; :s  to  en- 

naterially; Pinturiec 

ti  > vault, 

..  o'  Ivlarsillat  to  decorate  the  •> 

• nd  for 

'“D.  O.  M.  Ascanio  Mariae  Sfortiae  \ 

Dia- 

cono  card.  S.  R.  JLv.  vi 20  cancellane.  rebus 

moderato,  in  arìversis  summo  viro  . r ntifex 

maxiruus,  virtutum  mentor  /ton  • ntionum 

obliti  ',  sacello  a fundamentis  erecto  po.-vm'  • 

chronology  of  these  recon-  • if  Santa 

Ma:  i del  Popolo  is  very  oleari \ ■ • isuw  (Pitt- 

turicchio  in  Rom , p.  82,  seq.)  ; bui.  .-.mument 

indicates  ouly  the  year  of  the  Ca  In  .1  •-  . 1 not  come 

tr,  Rou.etiilTIjo64  ,^  ijg  mmoxOM  »'5-> 


— ^ 


A Family  Sanctuary  (1505-1508)  109 

the  monument  itself,  it  was  entrusted  to  Master  Andrea 
Con tucci  da  Sansovino,  a Tuscan  artist,  hitherto  but  little 
known  in  Italy  (he  had  passed  most  of  his  life  in  Portu- 
gal); but  whose  Baptism  of  Christ , in  marble,  had  lately 
revealed  to  Florence  the  sculptor’s  rare  and  precious  gifts. 

This  was,  in  fact,  a remarkable  work,  and  has  remained 
Contucci’s  masterpiece.  Following  the  example  of 
Michelangelo  in  the  Pietà , — and  the  first  to  follow  him,  if 
I am  not  mistaken, — Andrea  sought  inspiration  from  the 
antique  in  representing  a Christ  nude  and  beautiful  of 
figure;  representing  Him  also  with  a pathetic  expression 
of  gentleness  and  contemplation, — the  only  expression, 
indeed,  whatever  may  have  been  said  to  the  contrary, 
which  is  fitting  in  the  circumstances.  In  contrast  to  the 
Son  of  God,  the  figure  of  S.  John  is  rendered  with  all  the 
realistic  vigour  of  the  school  of  Donatello;  one  might  say, 
even,  with  the  fire  of  a Jacopo  della  Quercia.  It  is  iu- 
deed  the  man  out  of  the  wilderness,  the  eater  of  locusts, 
with  rough  hair,  inspired  gesture,  and  drapery  admirably 
handled.  The  contrast  is  striking,  and  perfectly  justified 
by  the  very  subject  of  the  composition.  A pupil  of 
Antonio  Pollajuolo,  the  extreme  naturalist,  and  also  of 
Bertoldo,  the  classic  initiator  of  the  Medicean  Gardens, 
Andrea  Sansovino  united,  in  his  group  in  Florence,  with 
surprising  success  and  perfect  equilibrium,  the  tendencies 
which  divided  Tuscan  art  towards  the  close  of  the  Quattro- 
cento. This  success  he  was  not  destined  to  have  in  the 
Roman  work;  but  he  gained  reputation  in  Rome;  and  it 
is  for  his  sculptures  in  the  choir  of  Santa  Maria  del  Popolo 
that  he  is  to-day  best  known  and  most  admired. 


I IO 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


The  tomb  is  constructed  after  the  traditional  plan  of  a 
monument  attached  to  the  wall,  having  a sarcophagus  in 
the  centre  placed  in  a great  niche  which  suggests  the  arco- 
solia  of  the  catacombs,  and  is  perhaps  derived  from  them  ; 
but  the  arcosolium  here  becomes  a lofty  triumphal  arch, 
not  unlike  the  Arch  of  Constantine,  or  that  of  Septimius 
Severus  in  the  Forum.  The  mausoleum,  further,  is  more 
imposing  in  its  masses  and  in  its  ornament  than  that  of 
Nicholas  V.  or  of  Pius  II.  ; it  is  divided  into  many  stories 
and  compartments;  half-columns  are  substituted  for  the 
earlier  and  simpler  pilasters;  columns,  architraves,  ped- 
estals, and  fields  are  covered  with  shells,  festoons,  armorial 
devices,  and  a profusion  of  other  ornaments.  Very  varied 
and  delicate,  these  ornaments  have  only  the  fault  that  they 
distract  the  eye  and  draw  the  attention  from  the  figures, 
which  are  also  far  too  numerous.  On  the  summit,  sur- 
mounting its  attic,  is  represented  God  the  Father,  seated 
and  blessing,  between  two  angels  with  flambeaux.  In 
the  side  compartments  stand  Prudence,  Justice,  Faith, 
and  Hope, — figures  almost  life-size.  The  Allegories  aim 
at  a certain  classic  distinction,  which  they  attain  in  some 
cases;  and  if  their  constant  contraposto  appears  to  us  now 
unduly  systematic,  it  must  be  remembered  that  it  was  a 
new  thing  at  this  period.  The  principal  innovation,  how- 
ever,— destined  to  be  widely  copied, — is  in  the  pose  which 
the  sculptor  gives  to  the  Cardinal’s  statue:  the  dead  man 
is  represented,  not  lying  at  length  in  the  attitude  of 
eternal  repose,  but  leaning  on  his  elbow,  bending  a little 
forward  as  if  fallen  asleep  for  a moment.  Do  not,  how- 
ever, seek  some  sublime  thought  in  what  is  really  only 


1 1 1 


A Family  Sanctuary  (1505-1508) 

a simple  technical  result  from  the  enhanced  proportions  of 
the  monument.  In  truth,  as  tombs  became  larger  and 
higher,  the  figure  lying  at  full  length  on  its  bier  was  to  be 
recognised  only  with  an  ever-increasing  difficulty,  and,  in 
the  end,  was  lost  sight  of  entirely.  To  obviate  this  dis- 
advantage, certain  sculptors  (among  others  Pollajuolo  in 
the  cenotaph  of  Innocent  Vili,  in  S.  Peter’s)  had  already 
conceived  the  singular  idea  of  repeating  the  statue, — one 
figure  lying,  as  dead,  upon  the  catafalque,  the  other,  as 
if  living,  seated  on  a throne  above.  Again,  in  Michel- 
angelo’s gigantic  scheme,  Julius  II.  was  to  be  held  in  air 
by  angels,  about  to  place  him  in  his  sarcophagus.  Con- 
tucci  hit  upon  an  expedient  much  more  simple  but  rather 
too  naif:  the  figure,  lying  on  one  side,  supporting  the 
head  on  the  hand,  was  no  longer  inconspicuous,  as  before; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  it  had  neither  the  animation  of 
life  nor  the  imposing  majesty  of  death.  It  is  a strange 
kind  of  sepulchral  monument,  which  neither  saddens  nor 
solemnises  the  mind  of  the  beholder.  This  is  not  the 
sleep  of  the  righteous,  which  one  contemplates,  but  a rich 
man’s  after-dinner  nap:  the  Virtues  and  the  Allegories 
are  the  attendant  train  of  some  high  personage,  present 
for  pomp,  not  for  prayer! 

Sansovino  had  scarcely  completed  the  tomb  of  Sforza 
when,  early  in  the  year  1507,  died  Cardinal  Girolamo 
Basso,  Bishop  of  Loretto,  one  of  the  exceptional  nephews 
of  Sixtus  IV.  who  took  the  priesthood  seriously,  and  set 
the  example  of  a devout  and  saintly  life.  Julius  II.  at 
once  gave  orders  to  Andrea  for  the  erection  of  a monu- 
ment to  his  deceased  cousin;  it  was  to  be  the  pendant  to 


I I 2 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


Ascanio’s  tomb,  and  was,  in  fact,  its  literal  copy.  Rarely 
has  an  artist  repeated  himself  so  frankly,  and  taken  so 
little  pains  to  vary  his  subject.  The  same  observation  is 
forced  upon  the  mind  in  the  presence  of  another  work 
which  competent  judges  agree  in  attributing  to  Contucci; 
I refer  to  a small  monument  in  honour  of  a certain  Pietro 
di  Vincenti,  in  the  corridor  near  the  south  entrance  to  the 
church  of  Ara  Coeli.  Whether  a preliminary  essay,1  or  a 
later  reduction,  of  the  great  composition  in  the  choir  of 
Santa  Maria  del  Popolo,  it  testifies,  in  either  case,  to  a 
truly  wearisome  monotony  of  invention. 

That  an  artist  so  destitute  of  originality  and  creative 
power  should  have  been  able  to  excite  so  much  admiration 
in  the  contemporaries  of  Julius  II.  was  due  especially  to 
the  undoubted  elegance  and  very  high  distinction  of  his 
work,  and  to  his  arduous  efforts,  very  often  successful, 
to  appropriate  certain  graceful  peculiarities  of  classic 
sculpture.  We  must  not  forget  that  Raffaello’s  magic 
had  not  yet  begun  to  take  effect  in  1506  and  1507;  the 
great  enchanter,  who  would  soon  call  forth  Calliope  in  the 
fresco  of  Parnassus , and  make  Galatea  smile  from  the  wall 
of  the  Chigi  Villa,  had  but  just  emerged  from  his  Um- 
brian valleys.  Classic  art  had,  up  to  this  time,  been 
studied  only  in  its  superficial  details  by  a Donatello,  a 
Mantegna,  and  a Ghirlandajo,  and  only  half  seen,  as  in  a 
dream  of  spring,  by  Botticelli;  Michelangelo  alone  had 
penetrated  the  sanctuary  itself,  but  had  not  deigned  to 
worship  there  except  before  the  great  mysteries  and  the 

1 Here,  as  in  the  monuments  of  Sforza  and  Basso,  the  date 
(1504)  indicates  only  the  year  of  decease. 


Monument  of  Cardinal  Ascanio  Sforza 
(Sansovino) 


I 12 


Koine  and  the  Renaissance 


As  1 - cub,  and  was,  in  fact,  its  literal  copy.  Rarely 

artist  repeated  himself  so  frankly,  and  taken  so 
: • p ains  to  vary  his  subject.  The  - o observation  is 
.-d  v um  i::.-  mind  in  the  prese  ; • mother  work 
which,  ivi:  . judges  agree  in  attni  . >g;  to  Contucci; 

I - small  monument  in  hono  : lain  Pietro 

in  the  corridor  near  the  ice  to  the 

. . : ch  of  Ara  Coeli.  Whether  a prei  - ; - ssaj',’  or  a 

..iter  reduction,  of  the  great  componi'  « . choir  of 

Santa  Maria  del  Popolo,  it  testifies,  case,  to  a 

truly  wearisome  monoton}'  of  invention 

That  an  artist  so  destitute  of  orign  * creative 
power  should  have  been  able  to  excite  ■ i miration 

in  the  contemporaries  of  Julius  IT.  wa  ially  to 

the  undoubted  elegance  and  very  high  • ; of  his 

work,  and  to  his  arduous  efforts,  vers  < essful, 

to  appropriate  certain  graceful  peoni  . classic 

sculpture.  We  must  not  forget  that  ii  ■.  ■ s magic 
■ yet  begun  to  take  effect  in  : S07;  the 

gitavi  . > ■ mho  .voukl  sc-  . rth  Cail;  in  the 

res.-  / 'niassns,  and  make  Gali  tea  sir.  • . the  wall 

of  the  Chigi  Villa,  had  but  just  env  1 . • his  Um- 
bria " . s.  Classic  art  had,  up  to  1 been 

studied  only  in  its  superficial  details  ! lello,  a 

Mantegna,  and  a Ghirlandajo,  and  onl\  as  in  a 

•dream  . spring,  by  Botticelli  : MiehGaip  i i v alone  bad 
j ctrated  the  sanctuary  itself,  bn1  h c gned  to 

v . -lip  there  except  before  the  gre  t n r i s and  the 


! ’ I re,  as  in  the  monuments  of  :•  . • nnu  the  date 

; • ■ ; i .01.  i>  i-ily  the  year  of  dev  V. 


ashohS  ovaaozK  javliclslaD  ho  TviatovioM 
(OKIVOaXAg) 


A Family  Sanctuary  (1505-1508)  1 13 

great  terrors.  At  this  moment,  Contucci  appeared*  in 
Rome  with  a very  acute  feeling  for  the  refined  and  pleas- 
ing qualities  of  antique  sculpture  and  ornamentation,  and 
he  delighted  the  Romans  by  his  constant  regard  for 
beauty,  — a beauty  perhaps  a little  vague  and  conventional, 
but  always  attractive;  and  especially  he  pleased  by  the 
studied  refinement  of  a decoration  at  once  luxuriant  and 
delicate.  His  success  was,  necessarily,  as  brief  as  it  was 
sudden,  at  least  with  minds  of  the  higher  order.  It  is 
noteworthy  that  after  1507,  Sansovino  received  no  further 
command  from  the  Maecenas-Pope,  notwithstanding  all 
Bramante’ s protection,  his  only  other  work  during  the 
pontificate  of  Julius  II.  being  done  for  the  German  pro- 
thonotary  Coritius  in  1512.  The  famous  group  of  Sant’ 
Agostino  (the  Virgin  and  Child , with  S.  Anne)  is  a rend- 
ering in  marble  of  a cartoon  by  Leonardo  da  Vinci, — a 
hybrid  work,  whose  merit,  extolled  by  certain  connois- 
seurs, I willingly  confess  myself  unable  to  discover. 

The  two  great  tombs  in  the  church  at  the  foot  of  the 
Pincio,  fix,  nevertheless,  a memorable  date  and  mark 
an  important  phase  in  the  history  of  sepulchral  monu- 
ments in  Rome.  Their  influence  may  be  traced,  nota- 
bly in  the  tombs  of  Pope  Adrian  VI.  in  Santa  Maria 
dell’  Anima,  of  Cardinal  Michieli  in  San  Marcello  al 
Corso,  and  of  Cardinal  Armellini  in  Santa  Maria  in 
Trastevere.  This  latter  Cardinal  is  even  represented  as 
having  dropped  asleep  while  reading;  the  closed  book  im- 
prisons a finger  to  keep  the  place  ! Most  surprising  of  all, 
however,  is  it  to  be  reminded  of  Contucci  as  late  as  the 
year  1545,  and  in  the  presence  of  Michelangelo’s  Moses. 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


114 

In  that  same  year  of  1545,  when  Buonarroti,  now  an  old 
man,  for  the  sake  of  having  done,  at  last,  with  what  he 
called  “ the  tragedy  of  the  tomb,”  had  abandoned  interest 
in  this  great  work  of  his  life  to  the  degree  that  he  was 
willing  to  have  it  completed  by  other  hands  than  his  own, 
the  second-  and  third-rate  artists  who  undertook  the  task 
went  to  seek  their  inspiration  in  the  choir  of  Santa  Maria 
del  Popolo;  and  thus  it  came  about  that  the  pontefice 
terribile , who,  in  the  original  design,  was  ‘‘to  be  held 
by  angels”  above  his  sepulchre,  appears  now,  in  San 
Pietro  in  Vincoli,  piteously  crouching  and  drawn  up, 
after  the  manner  of  Cardinal  Ascanio.  But,  twenty  years 
earlier,’  the  Titan  of  the  Renaissance  had  already  broken 
the  ancient  mould,  and  inaugurated  a new  and  fatal 
type.  In  the  Medicean  mausoleum,  the  two  Capita?ii 
are  placed  by  him  upon  their  tombs,  seated  and  alive; 
they  are  there  before  us  in  all  the  vigour  and  animation 
of  their  earthly  existence;  and  the  example  was  destined 
thenceforth  to  become  law.  At  Santa  Maria  sopra  Min- 
erva, Leo  X.  and  Clement  VII.  are  seated  on  their  ponti- 
fical thrones,  the  Apostle’s  keys  in  the  left  hand,  the 
right  hand  lifted  in  benediction;  Paul  III.  Farnese  has 
the  same  attitude  in  S.  Peter’s  and,  even,  he  is  free  from 
any  niche  or  architectural  framework  -whatsoever.  Life 
has  made  conquest  of  death,  and  there  is  an  end  forever 
of  the  mediaeval  conception  of  a bier  and  the  dead  figure 

' The  statue  of  Duke  Giuliano  in  the  mortuary  chapel  of  San 
Lorenzo  was  already  completed  at  the  beginning  of  1526,  as  ap- 
pears from  the  letter  to  Fattucci,  April  26th  of  that  year.  Lettere 
di  Michelangelo,  ed.  Milanesi,  p.  453. 


A Family  Sanctuary  (1505—1508)  1 1 5 

lying  upon  it,  a severe  and  stately  theme  which  had  so 
long  inspired  the  Pisani,  the  Cosmati,  the  admirable  Tus- 
can sculptors  of  the  Quattrocento,  and  was  now  embodied 
for  the  last  time  by  Andrea  Sansovino,  but  in  a manner 
characterised  by  excess  of  emphasis,  in  the  tombs  of 
Sforza  and  of  Girolamo  Basso. 

Near  the  close  of  his  life,  long  after  he  had  created  his 
Capitani  in  the  chapel  of  San  Lorenzo,  Michelangelo  made 
another  essay  at  a sepulchral  monument, — imagining  a 
type  entirely  original  and  unique,  and  with  the  intention 
that  it  should  be  for  his  own  tomb.  It  was  to  be  a Pietà 
in  pyramidal  form,  with  four  figures, — Nicodemus  sup- 
porting in  his  arms  the  dead  Christ,  lamented  over  by  the 
Virgin  and  the  Magdalen;  and  to  this  Nicodemus,  in 
monkish  frock,  the  octogenarian  sculptor  gave  the  well- 
known,  sombre  features  so  early  marred  by  Torrigiano’s 
fist!  He  worked  furiously  and  in  secret  at  this  colossal 
group, — often  by  night,  a very  Cyclops,  with  a torch  fixed 
above  his  forehead, — until  the  moment  when,  discovering 
a vein  in  the  huge  block  of  marble,  he  broke  it  in  pieces 
and  dropped  the  chisel  from  his  enfeebled  hands.  The 
fragments,  piously  gathered  up  and  reunited  by  a young 
friend  of  the  sculptor,  Tiberio  Calcagni,  were  finally  de- 
posited, in  1722,  by  order  of  Cosimo  III.,  in  the  darkness 
of  Santa  Maria  del  Fiore,  behind  the  high  altar;  but 
Vasari  had  a happier  inspiration,  in  1564,  when  it  occurred 
to  him  to  place  in  Santa  Croce  the  shattered  group  which 
contained  the  great  master’s  last  thought,  for  it  was  mag- 
nificent,— this  thought  of  the  dying  Prometheus,  to  be 
represented  after  his  death,  in  penitent’s  frock,  clasping 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


1 16 

to  his  heart  Christ’s  Passion,  and  the  grief  of  the  two 
Marys.1 

But  are  you  not  impressed  with  the  immense  and  mys- 
terious place  that  the  tomb  has  never  ceased  to  hold  in 
Christian  art,  from  the  twilight  of  the  catacombs  up  to  the 
high  noon  of  the  Renaissance  ? The  crypts  of  Lucilla 
and  of  Calixtus, — the  mausoleum  of  Galla  Placidia, — the 
sepulchral  basilica  of  S.  Francis, — the  Campo  Santo  of 
Pisa,— the  Sagre  grotte  of  the  Vatican, — the  cenotaph  of 
Julius  II., — the  monuments  of  Santa  Maria  del  Popolo, — 
the  chapel  of  the  Medici, — the  Pietà  in  the  Cathedral  of 
Florence, — such  might  be  the  titles  of  chapters  in  this 
wondrous  history  of  a sculpture  and  a painting  which 
have  both  grown  up  in  the  shadow  of  Death! 

1 It  seems  to  me  only  right  to  call  attention  to  the  following 
passage  (which  has  received  too  little  notice)  in  a letter  written 
by  Vasari  to  Leonardo  Buonarroti,  March  18,  1564,  three  weeks 
after  Michelanglo’s  death  ( Carte  inedite  Michelangiolesche,  Milan, 
Daelli,  1865,  p.  55):  “When  I reflect  that  Michelangelo  declared, 

as  is  well  known  also  to  Daniele  (da  Volterra),  Messer  Tommaso 
dei  Cavelieri,  and  many  other  of  his  friends,  that  he  intended  the 
Pietà  with  five  (four)  figures  for  his  own  tomb,  I think  that  his 
heir  ought  to  seek  out  how  it  became  the  property  of  Bandieri. 
Moreover,  there  is  in  the  group  an  old  man  who  represents  the 
sculptor  himself.  I beg  you  therefore  to  take  measures  to  recover 
this  Pietà,"  etc. 


CHAPTER  IX 


“belvedere”  (1509) 

A superb  head,  quite  bald,  except  for  a few  curls  near 
the  nape  of  the  neck, — the  skull,  forehead,  eyebrows  and 
eyes  of  extraordinary  power,  curiously  contrasted  with  an 
extreme  pettiness  of  the  snub  nose,  the  mouth,  and  the 
chin, — like  a kind  of  bald  Socrates,  much  fined  down, 
with  all  his  fund  of  good-natured  wit,  and  a certain 
juvenile  vivacity  added:  thus  presents  himself  to  our 
view,  in  Raffaello’ s Disputa , Master  Donato  da  Urbino, 
surnamed  il  Bramante  ; and,  in  truth,  as  we  look  at  this 
charming,  impetuous  old  man,  who,  leaning  against  a 
balustrade,  holding  in  one  hand  a big  open  book — is  it 
Vitruvius  ?— points  out  with  the  other  a passage  to  some 
one  standing  behind,  it  is  not  easy  to  identify  him  as  that 
ill-disposed  and  envious  person,  that  base  and  perverse 
plotter,  whom  Michelangelo  never  ceased,  his  life  long, 
to  denounce. 

This  savage  rancour  against  the  illustrious  builder  of  S. 
Peter’s  is  one  of  the  salient  and  most  displeasing  traits,  it 
must  be  confessed,  in  the  character  of  the  great  Floren- 
tine; it  is  one  of  those  animosities,  inextinguishable,  un- 
appeasable, that  we  find  nowhere  else  than  in  the  strong 
and  violent  natures  of  the  Quattrocento.  Neither  the 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


1 1 8 

rival’s  death  nor  his  own  successes,  immense  as  they 
were,  could  disarm  a resentment  in  which  the  gracious, 
gentle  Raffaello  was  also  destined  to  have  his  large 
share. 

In  1542,  thirty  years  after  the  death  of  Bramante  and 
twenty-two  years  after  that  of  Raffaello,  Buonarroti  ends 
a long  narrative  of  his  “ tragedy  of  the  tomb  ” with  these 
extraordinary  lines:  “ All  the  difficulties  between  Pope 
Julius  and  myself  arose  from  the  jealousy  of  Bramante 
and  Raffaello.  That  the  tomb  was  not  continued  was  be- 
cause they  desired  my  ruin;  and  Raffaello  had  good  reason 
for  this  conduct,  since  all  that  he  knew  of  art  he  derived 
from  me.”  Observe  that  Raffaello  did  not  come  to  Rome 
until  three  years  after  the  “difficulties”  in  question  oc- 
curred, and  until  the  painter  of  the  Prophets  and  Sibyls 
was  in  the  midst  of  work  on  his  “ bridge”  in  the  Sistine! 
In  1553,  Michelangelo,  an  octogenarian,  and  at  the  Sum- 
mit of  a fame  which  has  never  been  equalled,  makes  use 
of  Condivi,  his  spokesman,  again  to  hurl  against  the 
architect  favoured  by  della  Rovere  the  odious  accusation 
of  having  sought  to  make  a dishonest  profit  out  of  work 
entrusted  to  him  by  a Pope  who  leaded  him  with  wealth, 
— of  having  employed  to  this  end  the  poorest  materials  in 
building,  and  of  having  done  his  utmost  to  remove  him, 
Buonarroti,  from  Rome  and  from  the  Vatican,  lest  he 
should  reveal  the  architect’s  disgraceful  frauds! 1 

1 Condivi,  c.  20.  In  a letter  written  from  Rome  to  Florence,  July 
9,  1578  (Gotti,  voi.  ii. , p.  57)  Sebastiano  del  Piombo  prays  Michel- 
angelo to  aid  him  in  having  Raffaello’s  peculations  brought  to 
light,  “ who  steals  at  least  three  ducats  daily  from  the  Pope  [Leo 
X.]  out  of  the  workmen’s  wages  and  out  of  gildings.”  Alas! 


Head  of  Bramante:  Detail  of  La  Disputa 
(Raffaello) 


1 18  Home  and  the  Renaissance 


riva'  s,Lh  nor  his  own  successes,  immense  as  they 
-id  disarm  a resentment  in  which  the  gracious, 
Raffaello  was  also  destined  l«>  have  his  large 


In  1542,  thirty  years  after  the  death  of 

two  years  after  that  of  Raffaello, 

narrative  of  his  “ tragedy  of  the  tomb 
•a:. ordinary  lines:  “ All  the  difficulties  bel 
Julius  and  myself  arose  from  the  1.  io,  > 
and  Raffaello.  That  the  tomb  was  no',  cun  tim 
cause  they  desired  my  ruin  ; and  Raffaello  ha 
for  this  conduct,  since  all  that  he  knew  s 
from  me.”  Observe  that  Raffaello  did  not  “ 
until  three  years  after  the  “difficulties" 
curred,  and  until  the  painter  of  the  Prop;, 
was  in  the  midst  of  work  on  his  bridge 
In  1553,  Michelangelo,  an  octogenarian,  an. 
mil  of  a fame  which  has  never  been  equal'.;.- 
of  Condivi,  his  spokesman,  again  to  hu  • 
architect  favoured  by  della  Rovere  the  odi  on 
.■  sought  to  make  a dishonest  proni 
entrusted  to  him  by  a Pope  who  loaded  him 
—of  having  employed  to  this  end  the  poor* 
building,  and  of  having  done  his  utmost  t< 
Buonarroti,  from  Rome  and  from  the  \ a 
should  reveal  the  architect’s  disgraceful  ft  • 

* Condivi  20.  In  a letter  written  from  Rome 
9)  1578  (Got»i,  voi.  ii.,  p.  57)  Sebastiano  vi.  1 I’iom  - 
angelo  to  aid  him  in  having  RaffaelloV  Peculati;, 
light,  “who  steals  at  least  three  ducats  daily  from 
X.]  out  of  the  workmen’s  wages  and  out  ot  gii 


ulte  and 
. roti  ends 
h these 
■ :n  Pope 
ramante 
l was  be- 
i reason 
derived 
:o  Rome 
t i m oc- 
Sibyls 
-istine! 
sum- 
es  use 
st  the 
éttfcation 
*:  work 
wealth, 
ials  in 
ve  him, 
lest  he 


nee,  July 
y s Michel- 

:OUght  tO 

, Pope  [Leo 
ngs.”  Alas! 


AT'JHglCI  Aj  HO  JIATHCI  :3TVIAMAH9  HO  CLASH 
(OJJHAHHA.H) 


“Belvedere”  (1509) 


iig 

I find  no  trace,  not  the  least  shadow,  of  these  insulting 
suspicions  in  the  writings  of  contemporaries,  for  instance 
in  the  Journal  of  Paris  de  Grassis,  who  is  not  fond  of  il 
Rovinante , or  in  the  Storia  of  Sigismondo  de’  Conti,  who 
bitterly  deplores  the  delay  ( cunctatio ) in  the  work  of  S. 
Peter’s — the  delays  of  a Bramante  ! I have  already  spoken 
of  a pamphlet  which  appeared  at  Milan,  in  1517,  against 
Master  Donato,  and  the  reader  has  been  able  to  judge  of 
its  author’s  keen  and  caustic  mind;  but  while  reproaching 
the  great  architect  with  his  frenzy  for  demolitions  and 
constructions,  Andrea  da  Salerno  makes  no  attempt  to 
blacken  his  character  or  throw  doubt  upon  his  fidelity. 
Under  a form  of  badinage  he  draws  a picture  of  Bramante 
which  lacks  neither  piquancy  nor  verisimilitude,  and  this 

alas  ! and  how  one  blushes  for  the  immortal  painter  of  the  Sistine, 
that  he  should  tolerate  such  language  in  his  correspondent  ! As 
to  the  “intrigue”  set  on  foot  by  Raffaello  in  1571  to  take  away 
from  Michelangelo  the  second  half  of  the  Volta  (see  Condivi,  c. 
32),  this  is  one  of  the  incredible  hallucinations  of  Buonarroti  when 
an  old  man,  to  which  biographers  should  never  have  given  credit. 
These  biographers  also  avail  themselves  of  the  well-known  letter 
to  Bartolommeo  Ammannati,  to  extol  Michelangelo’s  “ generosity 
which  could  cast  aside  the  remembrance  of  cruel  persecution  (?).” 
(Heath  Wilson,  Life,  p.  478.)  In  this  letter  Michelangelo  eulogises 
Bramaute’s  plan  for  S.  Peter’s,  and  avers  that  “ whosoever  has  de- 
parted from  this  plan  (s' è discostato),  as  Sangallo  did,  has  gone  aside 
from  true  architecture.”  (Lettere,  p.  335.)  This  isthe  sole  and  single 
time  that  Michelangelo  has  a good  word  for  Bramante,  and  here 
only  because  of  the  hatred  he  bears  at  this  moment  for  Sangallo 
(I555)-  Later,  when  he  had  himself  become  the  architect  of  S. 
Peter’s,  Buonarroti  goes  much  farther  away  from  Bramante’s  plan 
than  did  Master  Antonio.  Three  years  after  this  so-called  “gen- 
erosity,” he  dictated  to  Condivi  the  atrocious  passage  about 
the  thefts  committed  by  the  late  Master  Donato  in  the  use  of 
materials. 


120 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


is  the  way  Master  Donato,  asking  entrance  into  Paradise, 
is  made  to  talk  with  S.  Peter: 

“ I have  never  been  weary  of  helping  talent,  and  I have 
never  minded  expense  in  living  agreeably.  Why  did  the 
ancients  give  a round  shape  to  coins  except  that  they 
should  roll  more  easily  ?...  I have  banished  from 
myself  as  far  as  possible  all  melancholy,  and  I have  tried 
to  feed  my  soul  on  gaiety  and  pleasure.  Did  not  God 
give  to  man  that  which  you  call  free  will  ? Man,  then  is 
free  to  live  freely!  He  is  forbidden  to  kill,  to  steal,  to  do 
injury  to  his  neighbour;  but  beyond  that  let  him  eat, 
drink  and  amuse  himself,  and.  if  he  has  good  sense,  let 
him  enjoy  the  blessed  indolence  of  Epicurus.  . . 

Epicurean  he  perhaps  was,  but  certainly  not  indolent, 
and  in  him  the  joy  of  living  was  always  ennobled  by  a 
great  generosity  and  a true  high-mindedness.  ‘ ‘A  patient 
son  of  poverty,” — as  his  pupil  Cesare  Cesariano  calls  him 
in  pretty  phrase,' — he  knew  both  how  to  enjoy  the  goods 
of  this  world,  and,  at  need,  how  to  do  without  them.  I 
want  no  better  proof  of  this  than  his  resolution,  when 
first  he  came  to  Rome,  to  seek  for  a time  no  employment, 
but  to  live  frugally  on  his  little  Eombard  savings  that  he 
might  have  full  leisure  to  study  the  monuments  of  the 
Eternal  City.  We  need  not  insist  upon  the  seriousness  of 
vocation  of  a master  who,  old  and  infirm,  kept  on  work- 
ing to  the  latest  day  of  his  life  with  all  the  ardour  of 
youth;  what  one  must  admire  is  that  this  earnestness 
never  excited  his  pride  or  altered  in  any  way  his  constant 
good  humour.  Friendly  and  helpful  to  all  talent,  with- 
1 Fu  patiente  filio  di  paupertate , Cesariano,  Vitruvio,  p.  75, 


“Belvedere”  (1509) 


1 2 1 


out  being  himself  of  any  special  school  or  province,1  he 
was  all  things  to  all  men:  assisting  Sansovino  in  the  set- 
ting of  the  two  tombs,  designing  the  architectural  portions 
of  Raffaello’s  School  of  Athens,  constructing  the  scaffold- 
ing for  Michelangelo’s  work  in  the  Sistina;  it  is  true  the 
latter  found  this  scaffolding  execrable,  discovered  in  it 
some  infernal  machinations,  and  got  rid  of  it  promptly. 
Bramante  loved  good  company,  good  cheer,  gay  conversa- 
tion, and  even  took  pleasure  in  jokes  and  riddles;  but  it 
was  from  this  very  animation  and  this  strong  vitality  that 
he  derived  the  extraordinarj^  energy  required  for  a marvel- 
lous transformation,  a rare  palingenesis, — perhaps  unique 
in  the  history  of  men  of  genius. 

He  had  passed  the  best  of  his  life  in  Milan,  at  the  Court 
of  Ludovico  il  Moro,  as  engineer,  architect,  and  even,  on 
occasion,  painter.  In  these  Bombard  plains,  the  vicinity 
of  the  North  exercised  an  influence  unknown  in  other 
parts  of  the  peninsula;  the  transalpine  Gothic,  in  all  its 
freedom,  with  its  capricious  profiles  and  projections  and 
its  diversity  of  combinations,  united  with  the  old  Roman 
stock  in  architectural  constructions  often  grotesque  and 
unreasonable,  but  sometimes  also  attractive  from  their  very 
peculiarity.  Rombardy  had  no  quarries  either  of  marble 
or  of  travertine;  hence  she  must  have  recourse  to  brick 
and  terra-cotta;  and  these  materials,  yielding  and  easily 
managed,  were  a temptation  the  more  to  trifle  with  tech- 
nical difficulties  and  to  despise  certain  of  the  fundamental 

1 He  assisted  the  Tuscans  in  Rome,  for  instance  Contucci  and 
Signorelli  ; the  Lombards,  as  Caradossc  ; but  I regard  it  as  a mis- 
take to  consider  him  as  the  chief  of  an  Urbinate  faction. 


122 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


laws  of  architecture.  Master  Donato  had  availed  himself 
of  all  these  conditions,  good  or  otherwise,  of  all  these 
merits  and  these  defects,  to  produce  an  art  original,  ani- 
mated, and  graceful,  which  had  its  grandeur,  which  had 
its  reason  for  being,  and  long  preserved  in  those  countries 
its  justly  honoured  name  of  Bramantesque.  Bight,  airy 
galleries  surrounding  slender  cupolas;  stories  retreating, 
one  behind  another;  capitals  with  volutes  of  dolphins, 
bippocamps,  sphinxes,  children  with  cornucopias;  col- 
umns covered  to  half  their  height  with  broad  acanthus 
leaves;  polychromy,  picture-like  and  illusive  effects, — such 
are  the  unusual,  irregular,  but  fascinating  traits,  which 
strike  you  in  Santa  Maria  presso  San  Satiro,  in  the  cloister 
of  Sant’  Ambrogio,  and  in  the  church  of  Abbiategrasso. 
For  twenty-five  years  Bramante  had  thus  pursued  in  tri- 
umph his  Lombard  career,  scattering  here  and  there  his 
buildings,  graceful,  elegant,  light,  whimsical;  creating  a 
numerous  school  of  remarkable  followers — among  whom 
we  need  only  name  the  men  to  whom  is  due  the  fagade  of 
the  Certosa  at  Pavia — and  seeing  his  style  extend  along 
the  valley  of  the  Po  as  far  as  Parma,  as  far  as  Bologna  : 
when,  suddenly,  the  catastrophe  of  Ludovico  il  Moro 
(September,  1499)  scattered  to  all  the  four  winds  the  ex- 
ceptional artists  whom  the  Sforza  had  gathered  at  his 
Court  in  Milan.  Lionardo  da  Vinci  found  employment 
with  the  atrocious  Cesare  Borgia;  Master  Donato  da 
Urbino  went  to  seek  his  fortune  in  Rome.1 

1 In  many  recent  works  there  is  mention  of  a short  expedition 
to  Rome  made  by  Bramante  in  the  year  1493.  This  supposed  visit 
has  been  attributed  to  him  in  order  to  declare  him  the  builder,  or 


“Belvedere”  (1509) 


123 


The  classical  ruins  of  the  Eternal  City  at  once  produced 
upon  his  mind  a supremely  powerful,  a dominant  impres- 
sion. He  made  no  attempt  to  obtain  lucrative  orders,  but 
lived  poorly,  consecrating  his  entire  self  to  a profound 
study  of  these  noble  vestiges  of  a great  and  vanished 
world.  Absorbed  in  thought  and  in  solitude, — solo  e cogi- 
tativo, says  Vasari,-— for  two  years  he  wandered  in  Rome, 
stopping  before  every  broken  arch,  before  every  dilapid- 
ated and  yawning  vault,  measuring  columns,  pilasters, 
walls.  He  pursued  his  investigations  in  the  Campagna, 
at  Hadrian’s  Villa  and  the  little  temples  of  Tivoli,  and 
even  went  as  far  as  Naples;  one  step  farther,  and  Paestum 
might  perhaps  have  revealed  to  him  its  mysterious  treas- 
ures! He  failed  of  that  supreme  good  fortune,  but  he 
understood  enough  of  this  antiquity  so  ardently  pursued 
and  he  was  sufficiently  captivated  by  it,  to  break  at  once 
with  his  Lombard  manner,  and  enter  upon  a style  entirely 
opposite — the  grand  style  of  the  high  Renaissance,  the 
style  which  from  that  time  to  the  present  day  has  not 
ceased  to  dominate  modern  architecture.  And  this  im- 
mense revolution  in  his  whole  art,  in  his  whole  being, 
Bramante  undertook  at  the  age  of  fifty-six,  having  a long 
and  famous  past  behind  him,  and  before  him,  only  two 

at  least  the  designer,  of  the  Cancellarla,  which  bears  on  its  fajade 
the  date  1494  (and  once  bore  the  still  earlier  date,  1489).  Signor 
D.  Gnoli,  Archivio  storico  dell  ’ Arte  (Rome,  1892),  has  lately 
demonstrated  by  unanswerable  arguments  that  the  Cancellarla  is 
not  (any  more  than  the  Palazzo  Giraud  in  the  Borgo  Nuovo)  the 
work  of  Bramante,  who  was  never  in  Rome  till  after  the  fall  of 
Sforza.  In  thus  setting  right  the  question  as  to  the  Cancellarla, 
Signor  Gnoli  has  done  great  service  to  the  history  of  art. 


124 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


lustres  of  the  new  life!  The  vita  nuova  of  Master  Donato 
— like  that  of  Dante,  two  hundred  years  earlier — had  for 
its  date,  we  note  in  passing,  a Jubilee  year — this  one,  the 
Jubilee  of  1500. 

The  easy,  winged  inspiration  of  the  preceding  period, 
with  its  leaning  towards  the  picturesque  and  the  fantastic, 
with  its  over-refinement  of  sculptural  ornamentation  and 
of  dainty  details,  will  henceforth  give  place,  in  the  work 
of  the  Urbinate,  to  a principal  care  for  the  effect  of  masses, 
for  a beauty  of  proportions  and  for  a harmony  in  the 
entire  construction; — it  is,  if  I may  so  express  myself,  the 
impersonal  sway  of  law  and  of  unchangeable  rules  {le 
quadrature ),  substituted  for  the  subjective  reign  of  grace 
and  fancy.  We  must  bear  in  mind  what  there  was  of 
arbitrary  and  accidental  even  with  Brunelleschi  and 
Alberti  in  what  they  borrowed  from  antiquity  for  their 
capitals  and  attics,  their  volutes  and  arches;  but  with 
Master  Donato  a rigorous  organic  idea  was  to  preside 
over  the  choice,  quite  as  much  as  in  the  distribution,  of 
the  various  constructive  elements.  The  Roman  temples 
gave  him  models  for  isolated  columns,  while  the  Theatre 
of  Marcellus,  with  its  system  of  superposed  engaged  col- 
umns, the  pilasters  of  the  Pantheon,  and  the  walls  and 
niches  of  the  Thermae,  were  his  guide  as  to  the  casing  of 
the  walls  and  supports  and  the  elevations  of  the  arcades 
and  loggie.  And  still,  not  so  exclusively  devoted  to  the 
antique  formula  as  to  be  enslaved  by  it,  he  had  no  hesita- 
tion in  giving  the  rustic  Tuscan  to  the  Cyclopean  base- 
ment of  San  Biagio,  or  to  the  ground  floor  of  a private 
palace;  and  from  his  Bombard  past  he  ever  retained  a 


“Belvedere”  (1509) 


125 


predilection  for  tall  cupolas,  spherical  extremities,  and 
projecting  pilasters.  Above  all,  he  was  never  to  lose  his 
exquisite  sense  of  elegance  and  distinction,  and  he  will 
remain  always  the  incomparable  profilatore  of  the  age. 
He  refined  the  massive  Roman  style  of  the  Empire,  with- 
out causing  it  to  lose  its  majesty  and  power;  unlike 
Michelangelo,  he  united  grace  with  strength,  a devotion 
to  beauty  with  the  exigencies  of  the  colossal;  and  archi- 
tecture was  always  for  him  a harmony, — “ a music,”  ac- 
cording to  Alberti’s  celebrated  expression. 

Bramante’s  first  creation  in  Rome  was  (1502)  the  Tem- 
pietto, the  little  circular  edifice  of  two  stories  and  a 
cupola,1  which  stands  in  the  court  of  San  Pietro  in  Mon- 
torio,  on  the  spot  where,  according  to  one  legend,  the 
Prince  of  the  Apostles  suffered  martyrdom.  A small 
edifice,  but  a great  event:  ‘‘After  an  interruption  of 
twelve  centuries,”  says  Burckhardt,  “ this  is  the  first  new 
monument  built  entirely  in  the  antique  spirit.”  The 
architects  of  the  Renaissance  were  never  weary  of  studying 
it  and  drawing  it  as  the  type  of  what  they  called  il  buon 
stile  ; and  to  this  day,  for  every  enlightened  visitor  to  the 
Janiculum,  it  has  a penetrating  charm.  The  magnificence 
of  the  site  adds  to  the  attraction  of  the  monument:  a few 
steps  distant  is  that  admirable  view  over  the  city,  the 
Campagna,  and  the  mountains  which  Martial  describes  in 
delicious  lines.1  There  is  nothing  more  curious  and  more 
instructive  than  the  resolute  sobriety,  almost  aridity, 

1 The  crown  of  the  cupola  is  not  Bramante’s;  he  had  designed  it 
much  higher  and  more  slender,  like  a candelabrum. 

1 Epigrammata,  voi.  iv.,  p.  64. 


I2Ó 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


that  characterises  this  initial  work  of  Bramante’s  second 
manner.  The  two  graceful  rounded  temples  at  Rome 
and  at  Tivoli  (San  Stefano  delle  Carozze  and  the  “Sibyl”) 
evidently  suggested  the  Tempietto,  but  even  these  antique 
models  the  architect  felt  obliged  to  correct,  in  the  interest 
of  a still  greater  simplicity,  eliminating  from  them  every 
superfluous  detail  of  moulding  and  ornament.  For  the 
luxuriant  Corinthian  columns  of  the  two  classic  buildings 
he  has  substituted  the  severe  Doric  order,  and,  with  the 
exception  of  rosettes  in  the  ceiling  of  the  colonnade,  he 
has  abstained  rigorously — and  as  if  in  penitence  for  a past 
too  flowery  and  flamboyant — from  the  slightest  motif  of 
foliage  or  vegetation. 

For  this  voluntary  (and  even  excessive)  sacrifice  of  all 
sculptural  ornamentation  he,  however,  amply  compensates 
himself  by  something  entirely  new, — an  effect  of  perspec- 
tive equally  original  and  striking.  A continuous  succes- 
sion of  recesses,  alternately  semicircular  and  rectangular, 
made  in  the  exterior  wall  of  the  cella,  in  its  two  stories, 
creates — together  with  its  ring  of  columns — for  the  Janic- 
ulan  monument  an  atmosphere  of  light  and  shade  which 
we  seek  in  vain  in  the  ancient  monoptercE  which  -were  its 
type.  In  Bramante’s  plan,  which,  unfortunately,  was 
never  fully  carried  out,  a broad  circular  portico  was  to 
surround  the  Tempietto,  and  in  each  of  the  four  corners  of 
the  courtyard  was  to  be  built  a chapel  with  a curved 
niche.  The  circular  principle  would  thus  have  been  re- 
peated and  re-echoed  from  point  to  point,  and  with  great 
variety  of  effect,  in  the  building  as  a whole,  in  the  ex- 
terior colonnade,  in  the  great  portico,  in  the  cupola,  in 


“Belvedere”  (1509) 


127 


the  niches  of  the  cella , and  in  the  chapels  in  the  corners 
of  the  courtyard. 

One  cannot  study  too  carefully  the  scope  and  originality 
of  this  ingenious  combination  of  columns  and  surfaces  and 
of  skilfully  alternated  niches 1 ; it  gives  to  the  entire  build- 
ing that  life  and  animation  which  flutings  give  to  the 
single  column;  here  the  whole  edifice  seems  fluted,  so  to 
speak,  catching  a varied  light  in  its  parts  and  profiles. 
Applied  to  the  interior  of  a building,  as  here  to  the  ex- 
terior, and  executed  upon  a gigantic  scale,  this  rhythmic 
system  of  supports  and  niches  was  to  become,  later,  the 
great  conception  of  S.  Peter’s.2 

The  art  of  Master  Donato  is  like  that  marvellous  object 
in  the  Oriental  legend  which,  folded  up,  is  a fan  in  a girl’s 
hand,  and,  unfolded,  can  shelter  all  the  army  of  the  Pa- 
dishah! The  little  chapel  of  the  janiculum  and  the 
colossal  Basilica  of  the  Vatican — a toy  in  masonry,  and  a 
cosmos  in  marble  and  travertine — both  proceed  from  one 
and  the  same  constructive  idea,  an  idea  of  genius. 

The  portico  of  the  cloister  of  Santa  Maria  della  Pace, 
which  Bramante  undertook  shortly  after  the  Tempietto, 
also  marks  a memorable  date  in  the  history  of  the  high 
Renaissance.  Very  inconspicuous,  and,  indeed,  quite 
negligently  ordered  in  details,  this  work  nevertheless 

1 The  niches  (even  the  exterior  ones)  were  all  destined  to  receive 
statues,  as  is  already  indicated  in  the  round  temple  of  Raffaello’s 
arazzo  : Saint  Paul  before  the  Areopagus.  Here  Raffaello  copied 
the  Tempietto,  as  he  copied  in  the  School  of  Athens  and  in  the 
Punishment  of  Heliodorus  the  (projected)  interior  of  the  new  S. 
Peter’s. 

2 Of  S.  Peter’s  as  Bramante  projected  it. 


128 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


inaugurates  a complete  revolution  in  the  method  of  con- 
ceiving open  structures.  The  peristyle  of  the  Pace  en- 
tirely surrounds  the  square  courtyard;  it  has  two  stories, 
the  lower  with  groined  vaulting,  the  upper  with  horizon- 
tal wooden  roof;  and  this  disposition  skilfully  indicates  its 
character, — half-religious,  half-domestic.  The  lower  story 
has  massive  piers  on  which  rest  round  arches;  Ionic 
pilasters,  applied  to  these  piers  rise  beyond  them,  spring- 
ing straight  to  the  architrave  above  the  arcade,  thus  add- 
ing to  the  impression  of  solidity  given  by  the  lower  story. 
The  gallery  above  has  projecting  composite  piers  and,  with 
its  wooden  cornice,  is  like  a covered  balcony,  while  the 
slender  Corinthian  colonnettes,  placed  in  the  intervals  be- 
tween the  piers  seem  like  mullions  in  twin  windows.  We 
have  here  the  foreshadowing  of  the  court  of  San  Damaso. 

A monumental  inscription,  occupying  the  entire  archi- 
trave of  the  portico  of  the  Pace,  informs  us  that  Cardinal 
Oliviero  Caraffa  built  the  monastery  in  1504,  and  presented 
it  to  the  canons  of  the  Tateran.  This  Cardinal  Caraffa, 
whose  name  is  so  oddly  mixed  up  with  the  statue  and  the 
origins  of  Pasquino ,'  is  one  of  the  attractive  figures  of  the 
Sacred  College  at  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century. 
A member  of  the  powerful  Neapolitan  family  of  the 
Maddaloni,  he  was  at  once  jurist,  theologian,  and  amateur 
of  antiquities;  a churchman,  a statesman,  and  a warrior, 

1 The  statue  of  Pasquino , now  at  the  corner  of  the  Palazzo 
Braschi,  was  formerly  in  the  Piazza  Navona,  near  the  dwelling  of 
Caraffa,  where  the  base,  with  the  inscription  Oliverii  Caraffa  bene- 
ficio hie  sum  MDI .,  may  be  seen  to  this  day.  Cardinal  Oliviero 
presided  over  the  early  fiestas  of  Pasquino,  which  in  their  origin 
(as  Signor  Gnoli  has  lately  demonstrated  in  a very  interesting 


128 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


>■  -he  method  of  con* 
ceiviii.  .tires.  The  peristyle  of  the  Pace  en- 
ti is  the  square  courtyard  ; ;*  has  two  stories, 

.e.  with  groined  vaulting,  the  upper  with  horizon- 
4 .vooden  roof;  and  this  disposition  sk  ■ ully  indicates  its 
character. — half-religious,  half-domes',  i.  The  lower  story 

ha-  .ssive  piers  on  which  rest  r-  ■ i arches;  Ionic 
i ' ers,  applied  to  these  piers  rise  • 1 them,  spring- 

ing straight  to  the  architrave  above  tu  i ".de,  thus  add- 
ing to  the  impression  of  solidity  ;:n  u by  lower  story. 
The  gallery  above  has  projecting  o > . ; - • '<-  '-ers  and,  with 
its  wooden  cornice,  is  like  a cover*.  a loony,  while  the 
slender  Corinthiau  colonnettes,  plac-  i : e intervals  be- 
tween the  piers  seem  like  inullions  * idows.  We 

have  here  the  foreshadowing  of  the  < ■ -san  Damaso. 

A monumental  inscription,  occur  entire  archi- 

trave of  the  portico  of  the  Pace,  iaiorm*.  ts  Cardinal 
Oliviero  Caraffa  built  the  monastery  in  i$<  .-resented 

it  to  the  canons  of  the  Laterali.  This  ■ d Caraffa, 

is  so  oddly  mixed  uj  .v;  ’ ue  and  the 

-,  s of  Pasquino ,’  is  one  of  the  atti  agures  of  the 

Sacred  College  at  the  close  of  tlv  euth  century. 
A member  of  the  powerful  Neapolitan  family  of  the 
Maddaloni,  he  was  at  once  jurist  th<  . ' ..dan,  and  amateur 
of  antiqui'  -s;  a churchman  a staff  and  a warrior, 

■The  statn  of  Pasquino , now  at  thi  *r  of  the  Palazzo 
Braschi,  wn-  i nicrly  in  the  Piazza  Nav.  » ■ > ' the  dwelling  of 

;..isi  V,  . h tin  '»  I Caraffa  bene- 

ficio hie  sum  MDI.y  may  be  seen  to  this  <.  Cardinal  Oliviero 
presided  over  the  early  Jest  as  of  Pasqnino,  wl  >i  in  their  origin 
(as  Signor  Guoli  has  in  very  interesting 


“Belvedere”  (1509) 


129 


— even,  at  need,  an  admiral!  Invested  in  his  purple,  he 
commanded  the  papal  fleet  in  1472,  and  made  war  upon 
Mahomet  II.,  the  conqueror  of  Constantinople.  It  cannot 
exactly  be  said  that  here  he  covered  himself  with  glory; 
he  had,  however,  his  triumphal  entry  into  the  Eternal 
City,  followed  by  twenty-five  Turkish  prisoners  mounted 
on  camels, — an  entirely  new  spectacle,  which  gave  the 
Romans  great  delight.  Much  more  serious  are  the  claims 
of  the  enterprising  prelate  as  a Maecenas.  He  built  the 
Caraffa  Chapel  in  Santa  Maria  si>pra  Minerva,  and  adorned 
it  with  frescos  by  Filippino  Lippi  in  honour  of  S.  Thomas 
Aquinas,  his  compatriot;  in  one  of  these  paintings,  un- 
fortunately retouched,  the  Angelic  Doctor  recommends 
Cardinal  Oliviero  to  the  Madonna.  He  had  also  the 
excellent  idea  of  encouraging  Bramante  in  the  latter’s  be- 
ginnings at  Rome.  It  was  he,  probably,  who  procured 
for  the  Urbinate  the  order  for  the  Tempietto,  San  Pietro  in 
Molitorio  being  a foundation  of  their  Catholic  Majesties, 
who  were  at  this  time  closely  connected  with  Neapolitan 
affairs;  for  himself,  he  entrusted  to  Bramante  the  cloister 
of  the  Pace.  But  Master  Donato  was  permitted  to  finish 
neither  of  these  two  works,  for  the  pontiff  who  had  just 
then  ascended  the  throne  left  him  no  leisure. 

Of  all  the  artistic  passions  of  Julius  II.,  the  passion  for 
building  was  the  earliest  and  the  strongest:  viagnarum 

paper),  were  peaceful  contests  by  humanists,  poets,  and  rhetori- 
cians. It  is  well  known  that  this  statue  once  made  part  of  a group 
representing  Ajax  with  the  body  of  Achilles,  a magnificent  Greek 
work,  now  horribly  disfigured.  Michelangelo  placed  the  Pasquino 
in  the  highest  rank  of  ancient  statuary  known  to  us,  and  Bernini 
declared  it  the  finest  marble  in  Rome. 


130 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


molium  semper  avidus , a contemporary  said  of  him.  He 
had  been  the  soul  of  most  of  the  monumental  creations 
which  were  the  pride  of  the  pontificate  of  Sixtus  IV.,  his 
uncle;  and  he  had  already,  as  Cardinal,  attached  his  name 
to  the  two  churches  of  San  Pietro  in  Vincoli,  and  the  Santi 
Apostoli,  with  their  respective  palaces;  as  well  as  to  the 
Basilica  of  Sant’  Agnese  fuori , and  many  another  edifice 
in  Rome  or  its  environs,  enlarged  and  embellished  by  his 
care.  The  very  personal  cachet  of  the  man  I find  especially 
in  the  curious  monastery  of  Grotta  Ferrata, — a monastery, 
but,  first  and  chiefly,  a formidable  citadel,  with  moats, 
bastions,  and  drawbridges:  the  visitor  at  Frascati  will  not 
soon  forget  that  singular  edifice  whose  crenelated  walls 
dominate  the  elms  and  plane  trees  of  the  smiling  Tusculan 
hillside.  Quite  different  is  the  desolate  and  arid  aspect 
of  Ostia  in  the  midst  of  sandy  plains,  with  here  and  there 
a melancholy  pine  tree  on  the  horizon.  There,  also,  on 
the  principal  tower  of  a fortress,  one  reads  the  words: 
“ Giuliano  of  Savona,  Cardinal  of  Ostia,  built  this  edifice, 

■ — for  refuge  against  the  perils  of  the  sea, — for  the  protec- 
tion of  the  Roman  Campagna, — for  the  security  of  this 
place,  and  for  a defence  of  the  mouths  of  the  Tiber, — in 
the  year  of  grace  1489,  and  the  year  2129  of  Ancus,  the 
founder  of  the  city.”  When  the  days  of  danger  and  of 
exile  came,  and  the  nephew  of  Sixtus  IV.  was  obliged  to 
seek  shelter  in  France  from  the  Borgian  persecutions,  he 
still  gratified  his  taste  for  building;  and  in  default  of 
Rome,  for  the  moment  closed  against  him,  he  remembered 
his  native  city  in  Ifiguria  and  ordered  Sangallo  to  build 
him  in  Savona  a fine  palace. 


“Belvedere”  (1509) 


131 

Giuliano  Giamberti,  of  Tuscan  origin,  and  the  founder 
of  a whole  dynasty  of  architects  of  the  name  Sangallo, 
was,  during  the  period  of  which  I have  been  speaking, 
the  Cardinal’s  favourite  architect,  and  was  even  with  him 
for  a time  in  his  exile  in  France.  In  Rome  he  resumed 
his  position  with  his  patron  as  soon  as  the  latter  had  as- 
sumed the  tiara,  and  the  architect’s  influence  appeared  to 
be  permanently  established,  especially  when,  at  his  recom- 
mendation, Michelangelo  was  attached  to  the  Vatican.1 
The  architect  of  the  Tempietto,  however,  at  once  became  a 
dangerous  rival;  he  gained  an  advantage  over  the  Floren- 
tine in  the  matter  of  the  plans  for  the  new  S.  Peter’s,  and 
from  that  moment  his  ascendancy  constantly  increased. 
Notwithstanding  his  sincere  attachment  to  Sangallo, 
Julius  II.  was  not  the  man  to  sacrifice  to  him  all  these 
magnce  moltz,  of  which  the  genius  of  Bramante  opened  to 
him  at  this  moment  the  radiant  vision:  between  the  Ro- 
vere and  il  Rovinante  there  was  a foreordained  harmony. 

What  a spectacle  it  was,  then! — these  two  old  men, 
these  two  valetudinarians, — in  less  than  ten  years  both  will 
be  dead,  — laying  out  the  programme  for  S.  Peter’s,  San 
Biagio,  and  the  Belvedere,  all  at  the  same  time!  And 
how  this  programme  sums  up  in  itself  the  ruling  ideas, 
the  sovereign  tendencies  of  the  period!  For  while  the 
new  Basilica  is  to  be  “the  most  beautiful  and  magnificent’’ 
in  Christendom, — “to  surpass  even  the  famous  temple 
that  the  Greeks  built  to  their  Diana  of  Ephesus,’’  as 
Canon  Albertini  says,  a little  later,  in  his  Mirabilia  ; 

1 This  is  related  by  Francesco,  the  son  of  Giuliano,  in  his  letter 
on  the  discovery  of  the  Laocoon 


132 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


while  San  Biagio  (in  the  Via  Giulia,  along  the  bank  of 
the  Tiber)  is  intended  to  concentrate  within  its  walls  all 
the  public  offices  of  the  Eternal  City,  and  to  be,  par  excel- 
lence, the  Palazzo  governativo — the  Belvedere,  for  its  part, 
with  the  enchanting  vedute  that  so  well  justify  its  name; 
with  its  incomparable  collection  of  antique  statues;  with 
its  loggie  to  be  decorated  by  the  most  famous  painters  of 
the  age;  with  its  theatre  in  the  open  air,  for  shows,  fetes, 
tournaments,  is  destined  to  unite  in  its  vast  circuit  all 
that  can  delight  the  eye  of  man.  Observe, — religion, 

power,  and  pleasure, — have  we  not  here  the  credo  and 
symbol  of  the  Rinascimento  ? 

For  each  one  of  these  gigantic  constructions  Bramante 
conceives  a different  and  original  design.  In  his  plan  for 
the  Basilica,  he  proposes  to  substitute  for  the  hitherto 
dominant  principle  of  the  rectangle — the  edifice  with  a 
long  nave — the  principle,  almost  new  (considering  the 
grandeur  of  the  proportions  and  the  strictness  of  the  appli- 
cations) of  the  circle — the  edifice  with  a central  dome. 
San  Biagio,  on  the  contrary,  shall  be  a rectangular  build- 
ing, with  a ground  floor  in  heavy  rusticated  masonry  like 
the  Pitti  Palace  and  two  stories  of  engaged  columns;  four 
rusticated  towers  to  occupy  the  angles;  a fifth,  higher 
than  the  others,  is  to  surmount  the  main  entrance.1 

1 The  plan  of  San  Biagio  is  preserved  in  the  Uffizi  in  Florence. 
Its  facade  was  to  measure  320  feet,  a third  longer  than  the  Farnese 
Palace,  which  was  built  in  imitation  of  it.  San  Biagio,  as  is  well 
known,  was  never  finished.  Remains  of  its  foundation  walls  (in 
enormous  rough  blocks)  may  still  be  seen  along  the  Via  Giulia  in  the 
lower  story  of  houses  for  a distance  of  over  250  feet,  from  the  Vicolo 
del  Cefalo  to  the  Via  del  Gonfalone. 


“Belvedere”  (1509) 


133 


For  the  Belvedere  and  the  galleries  connecting  it  with 
the  Vatican  Palace  the  artist  exhausted  all  the  combina- 
tions suggested  to  him  by  the  colossal  ruins  of  the  ancient 
city, — the  Theatre  of  Marcellus,  the  Colosseum,  the 
Thermae.  For  eight  years  (1505-12),  the  old  Urbinate 
carried  simultaneously  these  three  enormous  tasks,  to 
which  the  Rovere  continued  incessantly  to  add  new  ones, 
namely,  the  choir  of  Santa  Ma^ia  del  Popolo,  the  staircase 
of  the  Palazzo  Communale  at  Bologna,  the  harbour  at 
Civita  Vecchia,  the  Palazzo  Apostolico  of  Foretto,  and 
others.  For  eight  years  Bramante  is  constantly  in  the 
breach  in  Rome,  or  travelling  upon  the  highroads  of  the 
Pontifical  States:  military  engineer,  inspector  of  works, 
superintendent  of  arts,  architect, — he  moves  mountains  of 
stone  and  earth,  pulls  down  and  builds  up,  wherever  he 
goes. 


Diruit,  ced.ì ficai,  mutat  quadrata  rotundis. 

But  he  never  moves  quickly  enough  to  content  his  for- 
midable Maecenas;  at  last  he  has  to  make  his  workmen 
labour  night  and  day,  at  night  by  light  of  torches.1  This 

1 The  despatches  of  the  Modenese  envoy  at  Rome  (Pastor,  Pàpste , 
voi.  hi.,  pp.  717  and  864)  give  an  animated  picture  of  the  ardour 
of  Julius  II.  in  the  construction  of  S.  Peter’s,  in  1507,  on  his  return 
from  the  “crusade”  of  Perugia  and  Bologna.  Costabili  writes 
(April  7th):  “ La  Santità  del  papa  se  demonstra  tuto  aiegra  e 
spesso  va  su  la  fabrica  de  la  chiesa  de  San  Pietro  demonstrando 
presente  non  haver  altra  cura  viagiore  che  da  finire  la  detta 
fabrica .”  Five  days  later  Costabili  writes  again:  “The  Pope 
went  to-day  to  visit  the  church  of  S.  Peter  and  inspect  the  work. 
I was  there  also.  The  Pope  had  Bramante  with  him,  and  he  said 
to  me,  smiling,  ‘ Bramante  tells  me  that  twenty-five  hundred  men 
are  at  work  here  ; one  might  review  them.  It  is  an  army.’  ” 


134 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


feverish  haste  will  have  unfortunate  results;  there  will  be 
cracks  and  fissures  in  his  buildings,  and  later  Michelangelo 
will  make  them  the  occasion  for  unworthy  calumnies  of 
the  memory  of  the  detested  Urbinate.  Let  it  be  said,  too, 
that  the  architects  of  the  high  Renaissance  in  general  did 
not  concern  themselves  beyond  measure,  nor,  indeed,  as 
much  as  they  ought,  with  the  solidity  of  the  constructions 
whose  plans  they  made  on  paper,  leaving  to  their  subord- 
inates the  responsibility  of  the  execution.  Their  great 
theorician,  Leo  Battista  Alberti,  even  goes  so  far  as  to 
say  that  it  is  beneath  the  dignity  of  the  artist-architect 
himself  to  labour  at  the  material  realisation  of  his  ideas. 
Master  Donato,  in  this  respect,  perhaps  left  too  much  to 
his  assistant,  Giuliano  Leno.  The  work  of  Bramante- — 
and  his  fame  as  well — suffered  much  from  all  these  very 
untoward  circumstances,  but  to  them  Julius  II.  owed  the 
sight  of  at  least  one  of  these  great  monumental  construc- 
tions considerably  advanced  during  his  lifetime.  The 
Opusculum  de  mirabilibus  novae  et  veteris  urbis  Rom<z , 
dated  in  the  middle  of  1509,  makes  mention  of  the  Belve- 
dere, rebuilt  with  great  splendour,  and  of  the  antique 
statues  collected  in  its  viridarium.  The  same  year  Eras- 
mus of  Rotterdam  gives  (to  Corsi)  the  description  of  a 
bull-fight  at  which  he  had  lately  been  present  in  one  of 
the  courtyards  of  the  Vatican. 

The  Vatican  at  that  time  presented  (as  it  does  at  the 
present  day)  an  agglomeration  of  edifices  constructed  at 
different  periods,  without  any  care  for  regularity  or  homo- 
geneity. What  Bramante  thought  to  do  for  the  facade  of 
the  pontifical  palace  on  the  side  towards  the  Piazza  di  San 


“Belvedere”  (1509) 


:35 


Pietro  can  only  be  conjectured  from  that  part  of  the  Court 
of  San  Damaso  on  which  he  has  left  the  stamp  of  his 
genius, — those  loggie,  namely,  ravishing  in  their  lightness 
and  elegance,  notwithstanding  the  coarse  glass  frame- 
work which  now  defaces  them.1  Master  Donato’s  ob- 
jective point,  however,  in  his  labours  at  the  Vatican  was 
a small  pavilion  ( belvedere ) long  ago  erected  by  Pope 
Nicholas  V.,  northward  from  the  pontifical  palace,  to- 
wards the  higher  ground,  and  rebuilt  in  1490  by  Innocent 
VIII.,  who  had  caused  it  to  be  adorned  with  frescos  by 
Mantegna  and  Pinturicchio.2  Bramante  united  this  pa- 
vilion to  the  pontifical  residence,  by  taking  in  all  the  slop- 
ing valley  (1000  feet  long  by  240  wide)  which  separated 
the  one  from  the  other.3  He  divided  this  valley  into 
two  cortili , of  which  the  higher  one  formed  a garden  (the 
present  giardino  della  pigna ) ; the  lower  and  more  sloping 
cortile , into  which  the  descent  from  the  upper  terrace  was 
made  by  a broad  flight  of  steps,  had  rows  of  seats  to 
accommodate  an  audience,  and  ended  at  the  south  in  a 
hemicycle,  the  teatro  : here  were  to  be  tourneys,  jousts, 

1 It  protects — the  excuse  is  made — the  paintings  of  Raffaello, 
Giovanni  da  Udine,  and  the  others  ; but  surely  the  panes  of  glass 
need  not  be  so  small  and  so  offensive  to  the  eye. 

2 Traces  of  these  frescos  are  still  visible  in  the  former  chapel  of 
the  pavilion,  now  the  Sala  dei  Busti. 

3 In  the  court  of  the  Belvedere,  opposite  Paul  V.’s  fountain,  there 
is  a door  in  rustic  work  which  opens  into  the  Prati  di  Castello. 
Above  this  door,  on  the  outside,  we  read  in  colossal  and  very 
handsome  letters  : Julius  II.  Pont.  Max.  Ligurum  VI.  Patria 
Savonensis  Sixti  II II.  nepos  Viam  hanc  struxit  Pont,  commoditati. 
It  is  surprising  that  this  inscription  is  not  found  in  the  current 
works  upon  the  Vatican.  Platina  enumerates  five  Ligurian  Popes 
before  Julius  II.;  hence  the  Ligurum  VI. 


i36  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


bull-fights,  and  other  like  divertimenti.  However  strange 
at  the  present  time  may  appear  such  an  addition  to  the 
dwelling  of  the  Successor  of  S.  Peter,  it  is  fair  to  remember 
that  this  did  not  at  all  offend  the  Christian  world  of  that 
day:  Nicholas  V.  had  already  thought  of  it  fifty  years 
earlier;  as  late  as  Sixtus  V.,  mention  is  still  made  of  games 
and  tourneys  in  the  Belvedere.1  Continuous  arcades,  at 
first  three  stories  high,  then  diminishing  to  one  story, 
and  leading  directly  to  the  pontifical  apartments,  border 
the  Court  of  Tournaments  and  the  Garden  on  the  east  and 
west  sides; — the  Colosseum  and  the  Theatre  of  Marcellus 
with  their  three  orders  of  superposed  pilasters  served  here, 
as  in  the  loggie , for  models  in  the  construction  of  the 
arcades;  on  the  north,  the  architect  sought  inspiration 
from  the  Thermae, — a colossal  apse,  eighty-two  feet  high 
{il  Nicchione ),  at  the  very  top  of  the  slope,  shut  in  the  in- 
terior. “Rome,”  says  Vasari,  “had  never  seen,  since 
the  ancient  days,  a conception  so  admirable.” 

Of  this  conception,  nothing  now  remains  except  the 
Nicchione  itself:  the  Court  of  Tourneys  has  disappeared 
under  the  later  constructions  of  the  Biblioteca  and  the 
Braccio  nuovo  ; the  arcades  have  been  built  up  (here  and 
there,  their  graceful  outlines  are  still  visible  in  the 
walls);  and  the  bare,  cold,  monotonous  corridors  of  the 

1 See,  among  others,  the  two  engravings  preserved  in  the  Corsini 
Library,  representing  one  of  these  tourneys  in  the  reign  of  Pius 
IV.  One  has  the  monogram  H.  C.  B.,  and  gives  the  view  from 
the  Court  of  San  Damaso  ; the  other,  without  monogram  and  by  a 
different  engraver,  is  still  more  interesting  : the  three  stories  of 
the  arcades  are  seen,  crowded  with  spectators.  Cf.  also  Letarou- 
illy,  Le  Vatican , tables  5 and  8. 


“Belvedere”  (1509) 


137 


Museo  lapidario  and  the  Chiaramonti  have  replaced 
the  splendid  halls  with  their  broad  luminous  bays 
which  were  called,  in  the  Rovere’s  time,  the  Porticus 
Julia. 

Only  from  some  rare  sixteenth-century  prints  can  one 
have  an  idea  of  Bramante’s  conception.  Or  if,  on  a 
bright  morning,  from  the  south-eastern  height  of  the 
Palatine,  where  the  Stadium  lies  at  your  right,  and  the 
hideous  gasometer  of  the  Circus  Maximus  at  your  left, 
you  bring  your  opera-glass  to  bear  upon  the  walls  of  the 
Vatican,  flooded  with  sunshine,  you  will  perhaps  have 
something  better  than  any  engraving.  You  will  be  able 
to  look  dov,n  into  the  whole  inner  space  of  the  pontifical 
palace,  from  the  Court  of  San  Damaso  to  Bramante’s 
gigantic  apse;  you  can  easily  imagine  that  the  buildings 
at  right  angles  are  not  there, — namely,  the  Library  and 
the  Braccio  nuovo , — and  your  eye  can  measure  that  length 
of  nearly  a thousand  feet  of  Bramante’s  two  lateral  gal- 
leries. The  Nicchione,  also,  which  loses  all  its  effect  as 
seen  in  {ho.  giardino  della  pigna,  because  the  other  half  of 
the  great  space  is  now  filled  up,  will  appear,  with  an 
elevation  and  dignity  of  which  you  never  dreamed:  at  its 
right  is  the  dome  of  S.  Peter’s,  and  the  great  apse  does  not 
suffer  from  a neighbourhood  like  that. 

Like  the  Julian  Portico,  the  Belvedere  now  shows  but 
one  vestige  of  all  Bramante’s  work  here,  the  famous 
winding  staircase  which,  from  the  Hall  of  Meleager,  de- 
scends in  a spiral  to  the  ground  close  to  the  exterior  wall 
of  the  Vatican.  Constructed  with  a broad,  gentle  incline, 
it  permitted  the  Pope  and  his  guests  to  ascend  on  horse- 


i38  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


back,  unfatigued,  to  the  upper  floor  of  the  Belvedere.1 
Contemporaries  make  mention  of  many  magnificent  halls 
in  the  interior  of  the  pavilion,  of  “ a place  designed  for 
the  Conclave,”  and  so  on;  but  all  this  was  as  nought 
compared  with  the  Viridarium. , at  whose  entrance,  on  the 
side  of  the  vestibule  were  the  words:  Procul  este  profani  ! 
This  was  indeed  peculiarly  the  sanctuary;  it  must  be 
approached  with  reverence;  it  had  its  chapels  ( capellette ), 
I was  about  to  say,  its  divinities.  In  the  midst  of  flower- 
ing shrubs,  of  orange-trees,  pomegranates,  and  laurels, 
the  air  cooled  by  a sparkling  fountain,  were  collected  the 
finest  antiques  that  had  been  discovered  up  to  that  time. 
There  were  to  be  seen,  placed  in  the  chapels,  or  only 
under  the  shadow  of  the  trees,- — the  Apollo , the  Laocoon , 
the  Cleopatra  (which  is  the  Ariadne ),  the  Hercules  with 
the  Child  (thus  well  designated  at  first;  later  named  by 

1 Albertini  speaks  of  many  faciles  ascensus  in  the  Vatican,  ut  ad 
summitatem  usque  tedi possit  equitari , as  well  as  in  the  Belvedere, 
adeo  quod  equester  per  latum  et  attimi  parietem  tripliciter  ab  uno 
palatio  ad  aliud  pervenitur.  Bramante  seems  to  have  had  a pre- 
dilection for  ascents  of  this  kind.  His  magnificent  staircase  in 
the  palace  in  Bologna  belongs  to  the  same  category.  It  is  perhaps 
not  inappropriate  to  recall  here  the  passage  already  quoted  from 
the  pamphlet  Simia,  where  Master  Donato  expresses  a wish  to 
construct  a stairway  to  Heaven,  “so  broad  and  easy  that  feeble 
old  souls  can  go  up  on  horseback.”  Vasari  (ed.  Milanesi,  voi.  i., 
p.  299,  and  voi.  iv.,  p.  158)  says  that  Bramante  derived  his  idea  from 
the  staircase  constructed  by  Niccola  Pisano  in  the  campanile  of  San 
Nicolò  in  Pisa.  In  a letter  of  Jan.  18,  1531  (Gotti,  Vita,  voi.  ii. , p. 
75),  one  of  the  employees  in  the  Belvedere,  Benvenuto  della  Vol- 
paia, writes  to  Michelangelo,  at  that  time  in  Florence,  to  come  to 
his  lodging,  on  arriving  in  Rome:  “You  can  even,”  he  says, 
“ enter  without  passing  through  the  city,  by  the  door  which  opens 
upon  the  winding  staircase.” 


“Belvedere”  (1509) 


T39 


pedants  Commodus)-,  the  Antczus  also,  so  highly  es- 
teemed by  Michelangelo  (now  in  the  court  of  the  Pitti 
Palace  in  Florence);  and  the  Tiber , which,  since  the  First 
Empire,  adorns  the  Louvre.  Some  of  these  works,  be 
it  remembered,  were  destined  to  remain  for  centuries 
to  come  the  supreme  masterpieces  of  ancient  sculpture. 
Winckelmann  and  Goethe  will  know  nothing  superior  to 
them;  they  will  reign  unrivalled  in  the  kingdom  of  abso- 
lute beauty  until  the  advent  of  the  Elgin  marbles  and  the 
Venus  of  Melos.  There  was  also  a Venus  in  this  sanctuary, 
a Venus  Felix , much  extolled, — even  called  the  Venus  of 
the  Belvedere,  like  the  Apollo  ; but  this  very  common- 
place statue  deserved  neither  that  excess  of  enthusiasm 
nor  even  the  honour  of  a place  here  at  all.  Vases,  sarco- 
phagi (one  with  Barbarian  Prisoners,  the  other  with  Am- 
azons), masks  (to  the  number  of  thirteen,  said  to  have 
been  brought  from  the  Pantheon),  completed  the  decora- 
tion of  Julius  II.  ’s  V iridar  him  1 where  Buonarroti  and 

'With  the  exception  of  the  Antceus  and  the  Tiber,  all  the  mar- 
bles here  enumerated  are  now  in  the  Vatican  : the  Venus  Felix 
and  the  two  sarcophagi,  in  the  Cortile  of  the  Belvedere  (Nos.  39, 
42,  and  69)  ; the  Hercules  and  Child  (Telephos)  in  the  Chiara- 
monti  Gallery  (xxvi.,  636);  the  masks,  part  of  them  still  in  the 
Cortile,  the  rest  in  the  Hall  of  Animals  and  the  Hall  of  Meleager. 
The  Cleopatra  {Ariadne)  and  the  Tiber  did  not  appear  in  the 
Viridarium  before  1511  and  1512,  but  this  was  still  in  the  time  of 
Julius  II.  The  Tiber  is  evidently  the  pendant  of  the  Nile,  and  the 
two  were  found  in  the  same  part  of  the  city  (near  Santa  Maria 
sopra  Minerva);  it  seems  doubtful,  however,  whether  the  Nile  was 
removed  during  the  pontificate  of  Julius  II.  from  the  place  where 
its  discoverer  reburied  it  in  the  time  of  Poggio, — which  is  singular, 
because  Albertini  knew  of  it  and  quotes  Poggio’s  account.  To  re- 
construct Julius  II. ’s  Viridarium  we  may  consult  Albertini,  a con- 
temporary, and  the  letters  of  the  Mantuan  envoys  to  Elisabeth 


i4o  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


Raffaello  doubtless  spent  many  an  hour  in  study  and 
meditation. 

In  my  frequent  visits  to  the  Vatican  Museum,  I take 
pleasure  sometimes  in  representing  to  myself  the  Belve- 
dere as  Bramante  arranged  it  for  the  pontiff-patron.  I 
see  Julius  II.  enter  by  the  door  from  the  winding  staircase, 
leaning  with  one  hand  on  his  crutch,  with  the  other  on 
the  shoulder  of  his  favourite  architect  and  director  of  fine 
arts.  He  stops  a moment  in  the  vestibolo  rotondo,  to  enjoy 
from  the  balcony  the  incomparable  view  over  the  city,  the 
Castle  of  Sant’  Angelo,  the  Sabine  Mountains,  and  the 
great  hollow  of  Prseneste.  In  the  Viridarium  he  long 
contemplates  the  Apollo  and  the  Laocoon,  to  which  his 
name  will  for  ever  remain  attached,  and  he  compliments 
the  old  Urbinate  upon  the  perfect  arrangement  of  the  two 
capellette.  From  this  Museum,  at  that  time  unique  in  the 
whole  world,  he  goes  out  into  the  garden  and  stands 
under  the  Nicchione.  The  immense  verdant  parallelogram 
lies  outstretched  before  him;  beyond  and  below,  lies  the 
splendid  amphitheatre  ending  with  the  hemicycle;  on  the 
left,  the  magnificent  gallery  of  arcades,  all  the  way  from 
the  Court  of  San  Dafnaso  to  the  Belvedere,  now  nearly 
finished;  and  it  is  expected  that  the  gallery  on  the  right 
will  soon  complete  the  enchanting  whole.  Julius  II. 
takes  delight  in  all  this;  he  enjoys  these  belle  cose,  as  only 

Gonzaga,  published  by  Signor  A.  Luzio  in  his  interesting  study  on 
Federico  Gonzaga , hostage  at  the  Court  of  Julius  II.  Michaelis 
was  not  acquainted  with  the  documents  published  by  Signor  Luzio, 
hence  some  of  the  mistakes  (especially  in  respect  to  the  Tiber)  in 
his  essay,  otherwise  so  remarkable,  on  the  history  of  the  Vatican 
statues  ( Jahrb . d.  deutsch.  archaolog.  Instit.,  1890,  v.  r.). 


i4o  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


Raffaello  doubtless  spent  many  an  hour  in  study  and 

meditation. 

In  p , .nt  visits  to  the  Vatican  Museum,  I take 

pie  . - : sometimes  in  representing  ! ..  f the  Belve- 
dere as  i damante  arranged  it  for  ; ; patron.  I 

•te  j r.iius  II.  enter  by  the  door  * • .•  ag  staircase, 

leaning  with  one  hand  on  his  a .he  other  on 

the  shoulder  of  his  favourite  arch  i . oc  tor  of  fine 

arts.  Pie  stops  a moment  in  the  . io,  to  enjoy 

from  the  balcony  the  incora para C the  city,  the 

Castle  of  Sant’  Angelo,  the  Sal  ms,  and  the 

great  hollow  of  Prceneste.  In  tin-  tart  am  he  long 
contemplates  the  Apollo  and  tli  which  his 

name  will  for  ever  remain  attach-  mipliments 

the  old  Urbinate  upon  the  perfect  :.r  . t of  the  two 

ca pellette.  From  this  Museum,  at  tin.  me  in  the 

whole  world,  he  goes  out  into  ti  .1  stands 

under  the  Nicchione.  The  immense'  .:  Melograni 

lies  outstretched  before  him;  beyon.i  -,  lies  the 

k ■ hd  amphitheatre  ending  with  t.L  . le;  on  the 

t,  '<  magnificent  gallery  of  arc  - -,*s  ■><.  ty  from 

f - San  Dafuaso  to  the  Bel  . nearly 

it  is  expected  that  the  the  right 

-vd.  - . ■ complete  the  enchanting  ! alius  II. 

v:i ght  in  all  this;  he  enjoys  th  , as  only 

• -.  published  by  Signor  A.  Luzin  n . g study  on 

■ ga,  hostage  at  the  Com:  l Michaelis 

'.-  i-  - luted  with  the  documents  pi  Signor  Luzio, 

i the  mistakes  (especially  in  •<»  he  Tiber)  in 

Vatican 

• ci  'Jo  firn.  d.  deutsch.  archàolog.  Inst  it.,  liSgn,  v.  i.). 

?jOS.  A vfì 


“Belvedere”  (1509) 


141 

the  Italians  of  his  time  knew  how  to  enjoy  them;  and  he 
thinks  of  that  posterity  by  whom  himself  and  his  work 
cannot  possibly  be  ever  forgotten.  Suddenly  he  turns, 
he  fixes  his  piercing  eyes  upon  Master  Donato:  “And  San 
Pietro?”  he  says,  in  a hesitating  voice.  Whereat  the 
two  old  men  look  down,  and  a shadow  comes  over  the  face 
of  each;  they  both  know  perfectly  well  that  neither  will 
ever  see  the  completion  of  the  great  Basilica. 

But  no,  I am  wrong.  I ascribe  unreasonably  our 
melancholy  and  our  sentimentality  to  these  Italians  of 
the  Rinascimento , who  only  knew  the  joy  of  living — of 
living  now  in  sensations,  and  of  living  again  after  death 
in  glory,  in  the  renown  left  behind!  In  reply  to  this 
question  about  Saint  Peter’s,  Bramante  would  probably 
have  made  a careless  gesture,  like  the  wise  Epicurean 
that  he  was;  and  the  Rovere  would  have  sworn  a big 
oath.  He  swore  like  a trooper,  the  pontifice  terribile , and 
sometimes  threw  his  crutch  after  the  men  who  fled  before 
his  anger.  This  happened  once  to  Michelangelo,  we 
know. 


CHAPTER  X 


MIRABILIA  (1509) 

On  the  31st  of  December,  1494,  King  Charles  VIII.  of 
France  entered  the  Eternal  City  at  the  head  of  his  Swiss 
and  Gascons,  and  his  numerous  men-at-arms,  “ who  had 
each  his  page  and  two  varlets  behind  him.”  The  Most 
Christian  King,  who,  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  had  asked  to 
have  “a  portrait  of  Rome,”  now  felt  it  his  duty  to  favour, 
in  turn,  with  such  a “portrait”  his  friends  and  loyal  sub- 
jects in  France. 

In  the  middle  of  the  winter  he  despatched  to  Paris  a 
document  entitled  The  Marvels  of  Rome,  with  orders 
that  it  should  be  printed  and  distributed  in  his  capital; 
and  here  is  what  the  good  Parisians  had  to  read,  among 
other  things,  in  this  singular  bulletin  from  the  army: 

“ Of  the  Palaces  of  the  Emperors.  The  palace  of  Rom- 
ulus, between  Santa  Maria  Nuova  and  S.  Cosma,  contains 
six  houses  of  mercy  and  concord.  Here  Romulus  set  his 
statue,  saying:  ‘ This  statue  shall  not  fall  until  a virgin 
shall  have  a son.’  Accordingly,  as  soon  as  the  Blessed 
Virgin  had  borne  her  Son,  this  statue  fell. 

‘ ‘ Of  the  Capitol.  It  is  called  the  Capitol  because  it  was 
the  head  of  the  world  where  the  consuls  and  senators  lived 
to  rule  the  city.  Its  front  was  covered  with  walls  of  gold, 


142 


143 


Mirabilia  (1509) 

and  everywhere  within  there  was  gold  and  glass.  Inside 
of  the  Capitol  a great  part  of  this  golden  palace  was 
adorned  with  precious  stones,  said  to  be  worth  the  third 
part  of  the  world.  Also  there  were  as  many  marble  im- 
ages as  there  are  provinces  in  the  world,  and  each  image 
had  a drum  hung  around  its  neck,  so  disposed  by  mathe- 
matic art  that  when  any  region  rebelled  against  the 
Romans,  incontinent  the  image  of  that  province  turned 
its  back  upon  the  image  of  the  city  of  Rome  (which 
was  the  largest,  as  being  the  mistress  of  all  the  rest) 
and  the  drum  which  it  had  about  its  neck  gave  a 
sound.  Then  the  guards  of  the  Capitol  told  it  to  the 
senate  and  incontinent  they  sent  men  to  expugnate  the 
province. 

“ Of  the  Marble  Horses.1  The  marble  horses  and  nude 
men  denote  that  in  the  time  of  the  Emperor  Tiberius 
there  were  two  young  philosophers,  by  name  Praxiteles 
and  Phidias,  who  said  they  were  of  such  great  sapience 
that,  whatever  the  Emperor,  they  being  absent,  should 
say  in  his  chamber,  they  would  relate  to  him  word  for 
word;  which  thing  they  did,  as  they  had  said.  And 
thereupon  they  asked  no  reward  in  money,  but  perpetual 
memory;  that  the  philosophers  should  have  two  marble 
horses  standing  on  the  ground,  to  denote  the  kings  of 
that  age;  and  that  they  themselves  stand  by  their  horses 
denotes  that,  with  their  arms  held  up  high  and  fingers 
spread  open,  they  were  relating  things  to  come;  and 
also  that  they  are  naked  because,  to  their  minds,  all  the 
science  of  this  world  is  naked  and  open.” 

1 The  Horse  Tamers  of  Monte  Cavallo. 


i44  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


These  four  things  were  not,  however,  let  us  say  at  once, 
of  French  invention;  the  eminent  scholars  who  surrounded 
Charles  VIII.  did  no  more  than  translate  the  principal 
passages  of  a writing  which  had  been  for  many  centuries 
much  in  vogue  on  the  banks  of  the  Tiber.  From  the  first 
years  of  the  mediaeval  period,  the  City  of  the  Seven  Hills 
had  its  Baedekers  and  its  Murrays,  which,  under  the 
titles  of  Regionaria , Graphia , and  Mirabilia , offered  to  the 
pilgrim  the  most  fantastic  descriptions  of  the  places  he 
had  come  to  see,  holding  up  before  his  eyes  an  imaginary 
Rome,  “ a Rome  seen  by  moonlight,”  in  the  rays  of  an 
erudition  and  a poetry  strangely  childish  and  confused. 
The  grotesque  feature  of  it  is  that  men  continued  to  read 
these  writings  eagerly  in  the  full  sight  of  the  very  places 
which  gave  the  lie  to  their  descriptions;  and  that  the  new 
art  of  printing  continued  to  multiply  editions  of  these 
curious  Guides , at  a period  when  the  labours  of  Flavio 
Biondo  had  already  laid  the  foundations  of  a rational 
and  scientific  astigraphy.  I have  seen  these  Roman 
Mirabilia , that  were  printed  as  late  as  1499,  1500,  and 
even  1511. 

That  an  awakened  mind  should  at  that  time  have  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  publishing  at  last  a Guide  less  absurd, 
Mirabilia  ‘ ‘ freed  from  all  these  futile  fables  ’ ’ {Jabularum 
nugez ),  is  certainly  not  to  be  wondered  at.  The  originality, 
the  true  merit  of  the  excellent  Canon  Albertini  is  this, — 
his  recognition  of  the  fact  that,  beside  the  ancient  city,  so 
extolled  in  previous  descriptions,  there  had  arisen  within 
the  last  fifty  years,  one  entirely  new,  and  equally  worthy 
of  being  known.  This  book  of  Francesco  Albertini  bears 


145 


Mirabilia  (1509) 

the  significant  title:  Opusculum  de  mirabilibus  nova  et 
veteris  itrbis  Roma. 1 

It  is  dedicated  to  Julius  II.,  and  the  Pope  is  appropri- 
ately and  in  set  terms  apostrophised:  “ Sixtus  IV.  began 
the  restoration  of  the  City;  his  successors  have  striven  to 
follow  his  example,  but  your  Holiness  has  very  quickly 
surpassed  Sixtus,  as  well  as  those  who  came  after  him.” 
The  opuscule  goes  on  in  this  tone;  involuntarily  one 
thinks  of  those  Royal  Economies  in  which  Sully  relates, 
by  his  four  secretaries,  the  deeds  and  achievements  of  his 
life.  We  are  still  in  the  facile  and  fortunate  days  of  the 
reign  before  the  great  tumult  of  Cambrai  and  the  Holy 
League.  The  Rovere  peacefully  enjoys  his  conquests  and 
victories;  and  in  the  chapter  devoted  to  the  triumphant 
generals  of  antiquity  (de  ?ionnullis  triumphantibns')  our 
author  is  careful  not  to  omit  the  famous  entry  of  the  Pope 
into  Rome,  after  the  tremendous  campaign  of  Perugia  and 
Bologna.  In  the  third  and  concluding  portion  of  his 
work,  the  canon  passes  in  review  the  monuments  of  the 
nova  urbs;  the  churches  and  chapels,  the  pontifical  palaces, 
the  Belvedere,  the  Castle  of  Sant’  Angelo,  and  the  Mint; 
the  hospitals  and  libraries;  the  porticos,  streets,  and 
squares  ; the  fountains  and  bridges  (de  fontibus  et  poìiti- 
bus)]  and  so  on.  He  forgets  not  to  notice  this  or  that 
fresco  of  Fra  Angelico  and  of  Botticelli,  of  Perugino  and 
Pinturicchio;  certain  famous  statues, — the  Apollo , the 

1 The  work  was  composed  between  1506  and  1509  ; the  first 
edition  known  is  of  1510,  Rome,  Mazocchi.  Herr  A.  Schmarzow 
published  in  1886  an  elegant  and  convenient  edition  of  Book  Third 
which  treats  of  the  new  city. 

IO 


H6  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


Laocoon , the  Antceus,  the  Three  Graces  (already  at  that 
time  removed  to  Siena).  By  birth  a Florentine,  in  his 
early  youth  even  a pupil  of  Ghirlandaio,  Albertini  is  a sin- 
cere lover  of  the  arts1;  but  in  his  Mirabilia  he  denies 
himself  all  critical  notices;  he  is  not  giving  a picture,  but 
making  a mere  inventory,  in  a dry  and  sober  style,  and 
with  wearisome  monotony.  Merely  from  this  enumera- 
tion, however,  we  gain  a very  vivid  impression  of  the  im- 
mense labours  which  had  been  accomplished  here  in  fifty 
years,  and  the  Rome  of  the  Rovere  appears  before  our 
eyes  in  all  its  amplitude  and  magnificence. 

A chapter  entitled  de  Domibus  cardinalium  shows  also 
how  rapidly,  under  the  impulse  given,  chiefly  by  the  two 
Ifigurian  pontiffs,  all  those  who  were  more  or  less  closely 
connected  with  the  Vatican — prelates,  high  dignitaries, 
or  apostolic  bankers — began  to  build  for  themselves  vast 
habitations,  monumental  dwellings,  and  adorn  them  with 
an  intelligent  luxury.  At  first,  adjacent  to  the  churches 
(San  Marco,  Santi  Apostoli,  San  Damaso), — making  part 
of  them,  and,  as  it  were,  sheltered  by  them,  the  cardinalic 
residences  soon  emancipated  themselves,  and  became 
frankly  the  palaces  of  princes.  The  Palazzi  di  Venezia, 
Colonna,  Doria,  Parafili,  Madama,  Sforza  - Cesarini, 
Giraud,  the  Cancellala,  the  Farnesina, — all  these2  are 
mentioned  in  this  chapter  of  the  Opusculum  ; of  course 

! He  also  wrote  a Memorie  di  molti  statile  et  picture  che  sono 
nella  inclyta  Cipta  di  Fiorentia  (Florence,  1510),  which  is  a 
precious  source  of  information  for  the  history  of  art  in  Italy. 
Besides  this,  he  wrote  a little  book  on  music. 

2 Albertini  also  mentions  others  which  have  since  disappeared  ; 
for  instance,  the  Palazzo  Piccolomini  (Sant’  Andrea  della  Valle), 


H7 


Mirabilia  (1509) 

under  their  names  of  that  day,  names  borrowed  sometimes 
from  some  adjacent  church,  sometimes  from  the  important 
personage  who  had  built  or  now  occupied  the  palace. 
Naturally,  also,  these  edifices  presented  at  the  beginning 
of  the  sixteenth  century  an  aspect  in  some  cases  very 
different  from  that  which  they  now  have  after  repairs  and 
restorations  without  number.  The  facades  especially 1 
were  at  that  time  generally  decorated  ; on  a dark  back- 
ground, relieved  by  a lighter  border,  there  would  be 
geometrical  figures  in  graffito , and  foliage  and  other  deli- 
cate motifs.  A number  of  the  domus  cardinaliuvi  are  ac- 
companied in  our  opuscule  by  the  remark  : stahiis  exornata , 
multis  marmoribus  suffulta  ; in  some  hall,  it  is  noted  that 
there  are  sarcophagi  with  sculptures  representing  the 
Labours  of  Hercules,  in  some  viridarium,  vases  with  re- 
liefs representing  sacrifices  and  the  rape  of  the  Sabine 
women. 

We  are  now  very  far  from  the  indifference  that  Poggio 
deplores  fifty  years  earlier;  we  can  conjecture  to  what  a 
degree  the  soil  of  Rome  and  of  the  campagna  had  been 
ransacked  in  search  of  anticaglie  ; we  get  our  first  informa- 
tion as  to  the  discovery  of  that  “ population  of  marble,” 
which  now  fills  the  spacious  halls  of  the  Vatican. 

By  a singular  contrast,  just  at  the  moment  when  a 
Florentine  of  liberal  and  generous  mind  thus  makes  known 
to  the  world  the  marvels  of  the  nova  urbs , and  extols  its 

and  he  omits  many  of  much  importance,  such  as  the  palaces  of 
Cardinal  Capranica,  Ascanio  Sforza,  Nardini. 

1 And  also  the  interior  cortili  : in  the  court  of  the  Penitenzieri 
(formerly  the  palace  of  Domenico  della  Rovere)  there  can  still  be 
seen  traces  of  a decoration  of  this  kind. 


H8  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


future  destinies,  a Roman  of  the  old  stock,  of  the  very 
noblest  lineage,  cannot  console  himself  for  the  abasement 
of  his  native  city,  and  its  irremediable  decadence!  Marc- 
antonio Altieri,1  belonging  by  social  and  family  relations 
to  that  great  seignorial  caste  of  the  Sabine  and  Alban 
Mountains,  who,  for  centuries,  had  done  nothing  but  ter- 
rorise the  Popes,  oppress  the  people,  and  destroy  each 
other  in  pitiless  and  purposeless  strifes.  In  1511,  Altieri 
joined  the  Colonna,  Orsini,  Savelli,  and  others,  in  their 
mad  attempt  “ to  re-establish  the  ancient  liberties  in  the 
Capitol”;  but,  in  the  meantime,  in  the  years  1506-09,  he 
employs  his  leisure  in  composing  a work  as  grotesque  in 
style  (Italian)  as  in  tenor  and  tendency,— a work  which, 
nevertheless,  at  its  moment,  must  have  enjoyed  a certain 
celebrity,  since  many  copies  of  it  may  be  found  in  the 
libraries  of  the  peninsula.  In  this  wild  lucubration  all 
subjects  are  touched  upon,  and,  above  all,  the  misfortunes 
and  distresses  of  the  times: 

‘ ‘ Rome,  once  queen  of  the  world,  is  to-day  so  fallen 
that  its  very  inhabitants  regard  it  as  only  a sombre  and 
horrible  cave.  How  many  families  once  rich,  powerful, 
illustrious,  are  now  either  completely  extirpated,  or  else 
half  annihilated!  How  many  dwellings,  once  erected  for 
the  pleasure  of  people  of  quality  ( per  la  recreaziojie  de' 
gentiluomini)  are  now  destroyed, — their  very  sites  scarcely 
to  be  recognised  ! But  why  speak  of  palaces  ? It  suffices 
to  glance  at  whole  sections  of  the  city.  . . .” 

1 The  Nuptiali  of  Marcantonio  Altieri,  ed.  Narducci,  Rome, 
1873.  The  editor  has  clearly  proved  that  this  work  was  composed 
between  1506  and  1509  ; it  is  identically  the  date  at  which  the 
Florentine  canon  composed  his  Opusculum. 


149 


Mirabilia  (1509) 

One  of  the  interlocutors,  Pierleoni  (for  the  Nuptiali  is 
in  form  of  a dialogue,  and  the  dramatis  persona;  are  of  the 
high  Roman  noblesse')  'remarks  that  his  casa  is  allied  to  the 
house  of  Austria,  and  that  in  the  eleventh  century  it  ex- 
tended a protecting  arm  over  Pope  Urban  against  formid- 
able foreign  foes.  Capoccia  is  by  no  means  slow  in  the 
glorification  of  his  ancestors,  and  Marcantonio  himself 
does  not  fail  to  do  violence  to  his  own  modesty;  but  he 
says  that  he  is  so  disgratiato  (has  had  so  many  misfor- 
tunes), that,  per  vivattare  (in  order  to  live)  he  is  obliged 
to  occupy  himself  with  the  culture  of  his  fields,  and  “ to 
treat  (oh,  supreme  outrage!)  of  rustic  matters  with  many 
vile  and  abject  persons.  . . . Pindar  has  long  ago 

declared  that  against  fatum  neither  wisdom,  nor  human 
endeavour,  nor  burning  fire,  nor  brazen  wall  can  pre- 
vail. ...” 

These  Roman  barons  of  the  fifteenth  century  had  not 
the  wit  or  the  ingenuity  of  their  contemporaries,  Sforza, 
Malatesta,  Bentivoglio,  and  the  rest;  the  idea  never  oc- 
curred to  them  of  covering  their  moral  nudity  with  the 
dazzling  purple  of  the  Rinascimento.  In  their  castles  of 
Marino,  and  their  donjons  of  Monte  Giordano,  they  went 
on,  as  before,  plotting  deeds  of  violence  and  acts  of  rapine 
and  murder, — the  while  Barbo  and  Grimani,  the  Vene- 
tians, the  Rovere  and  the  Riarii  of  Genoa,  the  Medici 
and  the  Soderini  of  Florence,  the  Piccolomini  and  Chigi 
of  Siena,  the  Castellesi  of  Corneto,  the  Caraffa  of  Naples, 
the  Spanish  Borgia,  the  French  Fstouteville,  were  build- 
ing palaces  and  museums  in  the  nova  urbs  ; and  the  most 
illustrious  among  these  intruders — a low-born  Ligurian, 


150  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


“a  peasant’s  son  ” — was  causing  S.  Peter’s  to  be  rebuilt, 
and  the  Genesis  and  the  Disputa  to  be  painted  on  the 
walls  of  the  Vatican. 

Albertini  does  not  speak  of  the  Disputa , nor  even  men- 
tion the  name  of  Raffaello.  He  does  indeed  say  that 
Michelangelo  is  executing  beautiful  frescos  in  the  oratory 
of  Sixtus  IV.  ; but  by  not  one  word  indicates  their  sub- 
ject, of  which,  indeed,  probably,  he  was  ignorant.1  The 
Florentine’s  Opusculum  bears,  on  its  final  page,  the  date 
June  3,  1509;  at  this  date  the  young  Santi  is  but  just 
beginning  his  work  in  the  Stanza  della  Segnatura,  and 
Buonarroti  remains  closely  shut  in  his  mysterious  chapel, 
which  no  profane  foot  may  enter;  I doubt  also  whether  at 
this  moment  Bramante’ s four  enormous  piers  (the  worthy 
canon  already  sees  them  “ touch  the  sky!  ”)  are  as  yet 
very  much  above  the  level  of  the  ground.  The  greatest 
viirabilia  nova  urbis  are  yet  to  come. 

1 Tua  beatitudo  (Julius  II.)  superiorem  partem  testudineam 
pulcherrimis  picturis  et  auro  exornavit , opus  praclarum  Michaelis 
Archangeli  Floren.  The  majority  of  modern  writers  (Messrs. 
Wilson,  Wòlflin,  Milanesi,  and  others)  have  erroneously  inferred 
from  these  words  that  a part  of  the  vault  was  uncovered  as  early 
as  1509  (the  date  of  Albertini’s  Opusculum ) ; it  was  not  opened  to 
view  till  August,  1511  (see  later,  p.  274,  n.  1),  and  Albertini  evid- 
ently speaks  only  from  common  report. 


CHAPTER  XI 


THE  “ UPPER  ROOMS  ” (1508-1509) 

I\ 

“To-day,  November  26th,  1507,”  writes  in  his  Jour- 
nal the  invaluable  Paris  de  Grassis,  “the  Pope  has  begun 
to  occupy  the  upper  rooms  of  the  palace,  not  caring,  he 
tells  me,  to  have  constantly  before  his  eyes  the  figure 
of  Alexander,  his  predecessor  and  enemy,  whom  he  calls 
marane ,'  and  ‘ circumcised  Jew,’  and  he  took  it  very  ill 
that  this  word  made  us  laugh — me  and  some  of  the  serv- 
ants. I said  to  him  that  it  would  be  possible  to  remove 
the  figure  and  the  arms  of  Pope  Alexander  wherever  they 
were  painted  on  the  walls;  he  replied  that  that  would  not 
be  proper,  but  that  for  his  part  he  would  no  longer  live 
there  in  presence  of  that  wicked  and  criminal  memory 
(; memoria  illius  pessima  et  sceleratd) .’  ’ 

It  must  have  cost  Julius  II.  an  effort  to  pass  the  first 
four  years  of  his  pontificate — almost  half  of  his  reign — in 
this  appartamento  Borgia , where  everything  spoke  to  him 
of  the  abhorred  marane , — walls,  mouldings,  and  paintings; 
but  with  that  instinct  for  great  things  which  characterised 
him,  it  was  only  last  of  all  that  he  thought  of  his  personal 

1 This  name  was  given  in  Spain  to  Christians  of  Jewish  or  Moor- 
ish origin,  who  always  remained  objects  of  suspicion. 

151 


152 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


accommodation:  he  thought  of  it  after  Perugia  and 
Bologna,  after  S.  Peter’s  also  and  the  Sistina,  after  San 
Biagio  and  the  Belvedere.  He  proposed  to  be  lodged  in 
the  story  above,  in  the  part  of  the  Vatican  Palace  once 
occupied  by  Pope  Nicholas  V.  ’;  and  a whole  legion  of 
artists  was  immediately  engaged  by  Bramante  to  renew 
the  splendour  of  these  camera  superiores , as  the  documents 
of  the  period  called  them.  These  rooms,  however,  were 
not  without  very  interesting  frescos  already,  by  Bonfigli, 
Andrea  del  Castagno,  Piero  della  Francesca,  and  others; 
and  the  destruction  of  these  works  by  order  of  the  Rovere 
is  often  deplored  by  the  studious  minds  of  our  day.  But 
Rome  is  forever  the  palimpsest  of  history:  frescos, 
churches,  pagan  temples,  and  palaces  of  the  Caesars  have 
been  perpetually  supplanted,  and  superposed  one  upon 
another,  in  the  long  course  of  generations  and  centuries; 
and  it  is  not  Julius  II.  whom  we  can  ask  to  respect  the 
monuments  of  the  past.  After  the  splendours  of  the  ap- 
partamento Borgia,  he  must  have  found  the  paintings  of 
the  old  masters  of  the  Quattrocento  not  a little  dull  and 
old-fashioned;  perhaps  also  they  had  suffered  too  much 
from  the  action  of  time.  At  all  events  it  is  the  fact  that 

1 Father  Ehrle,  in  his  learned  Introduction  to  the  Frescos  of  the 
Appartamento  Borgia,  p.  22,  shows,  from  Burchard’s  Journal,  that 
as  early  as  the  month  of  November,  1505,  Julius  II.  had  attempted 
to  live  on  the  third  floor,  but  did  not  definitively  abandon  the 
Borgia  apartment  until  November,  1507,  as  says  Paris  de  Grassis. 
I remark,  however,  that  as  late  as  the  close  of  1512,  the  Pope,  on 
occasion,  made  use  of  the  appartamento  Borgia  for  great  diplomatic 
dinners.  See  Journal  of  Paris  de  Grassis,  October  31,  1512  ( Vespera 
in  Vigilia,  OO.  SS.):  Pontifex  dedit  solemnissimum  prandium 
oratoribus  Parmens.  in  Palatio  suo  in  Aula  Pontificum  inferiori. 


.Stanza  delta  Segnatura 


152 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


accommodation:  he  thought  of  it  after  Perugia  and 
Bologna,  after  S.  Peter’s  also  and  the  Sistina,  after  San 
Biagio  and  the  Belvedere.  He  proposed  to  be  lodged  in 
the  story  above,  in  the  part  of  the  Vatican  f’aiace  once 
occupied  by  Pope  Nicholas  V. and  legion  of 

artists  was  immediately  engaged  by  Bramante  to  renew 
the  splendour  of  these  camera:  super  io  ’ documents 

of  the  period  called  them.  These  x wever,  were 

not  without  very  interesting  frescos  : 

Andrea  del  Castagno,  Piero  della  V 
and  the  destruction  of  these  works  b\  o 
is  often  deplored  by  the  studious  min* 

Rome  is  forever  the  palimpsest  oi 
churches,  pagan  temples,  and  palace:  , 
been  perpetually  supplanted,  and  sup 
another,  in  the  long  course  of  generati 
and  it  is  not  Julius  II.  whom  we  can 
monuments  of  the  past.  After  the  ■ v 
parlamento  Borgia,  he  must  have  loan 
the  old  masters  of  the  Qua tt roc  anto  1 
old-fashioned;  perhaps  also  they  had 
from  the  action  of  time.  At  ad  even' 


by  Bonfigli, 
,ud  others 
he  Rovere 
r day.  But 
• frescos, 
sars  have 
one  upon 
vnturies; 
.spect.  the 
s of  the  ap- 
paintings  of 
le  dull  and 
too  much 
?.  fact  that 


> Father  r ule,  in  his  learned  introdurti 
Appartamento  Forgia ,.p.  22.  show*,  frodi  I 
as  eariy  • : the  month  of  Novel»' ‘.-t.  '.>05»  J 
to  live  on  the  third  floor,  bu1  .1x1  no*  d 
Bor.sria  apartment  until  November,  1 <07.  at 
1 remark,  however,  that  as  late  ; < 1 b«  do» 
occasion . made  use  of  the  apparto  / to  Ft,. 

dinners.  See  youmal  ofPans  de  i C 

in  Vigilia,  00.  SS.):  Ponti/ex  dedit  ai 
ora’oribus  Partnens.  in  Palai  to  a-o 


r cos  of  the 
■ mal , that 
attempted 
atidon  the 
de  Grassis. 

■.  Pope,  on 
: diplomatic 
- : 1 ( Vesperce 
ni  prandium 
. rn  inferiori. 


The  “Upper  Rooms”  (1508-1509)  153 

in  the  winter  of  1508-09,  Perugino,  Suardi,  Sodoma, 
Peruzzi,  Lorenzo  Lotto,  Michel  del  Becca,  Giovanni 
Ruisch  and  still  others,  were  at  work  simultaneously  in 
decorating  the  new  abode  of  the  Pope.  They  had  their 
headquarters  nearby,  in  the  Borgo,  in  what  had  been  the 
palace  of  Cardinal  Domenico  della  Rovere  (now  the  Con- 
vento de’  Penitenzieri):  Master  Donato  Bramante  often 
gathered  them  at  his  table  there,  and  these  repasts  of  the 
director  of  fine  arts  were  famous  both  for  good  cheer  and 
good  humour.1 

In  this  numerous  assemblage  of  talent,  recruited  some- 
what hastily  and  almost  by  chance,  I am  surprised  never- 
theless not  to  find  the  name  at  that  time  most  illustrious 
of  all:  how  could  Master  Donato,  in  a case  like  this,  forget 
the  divine  Leonardo,  his  former  and  famous  companion  at 
the  Court  of  the  Sforza  ? With  the  death  of  Alexander 
VI.  Lionardo  da  Vinci  had  lost  his  last  protector,  in  the 
person  of  the  horrible  due  de  Valentinois:  he  went  from 
Milan  to  Florence,  from  Florence  to  Milan,  living  from 
hand  to  mouth,  working  now  for  the  Signory  of  his  nat- 
ive city,  and  now  for  the  King  of  France,  or  the  King’s 
lieutenant  in  Lombardy,  General  Chaumont.  In  1506, 
he  had  had  just  completed  for  the  Signory  that  famous 

1 In  the  Codex  No.  2315,  of  the  Corsini  Library  in  Rome,  we 
find  many  bills  from  these  artists  for  their  work  in  the  Camerce 
superior es  of  the  Vatican  ; these  accounts  extend  from  October, 
1508,  to  March,  1509  (Cavalcasene,  Raffaello , voi.  ii.,  pp.  11,  12). 
In  regard  to  the  suppers  of  the  artists  at  Bramante’s  lodgings,  we 
have  the  contemporary  testimony  of  Corporali  (Vermiglioli, 
Memorie  di  Bernardino  Pinturicchio,  p.  5.  See  also  Temanza, 
Vila  del  Sansovino). 


i54  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


cartoon  of  the  Battle  of  Anghiari,  which  was  at  the  time 
esteemed  one  of  the  most  splendid  manifestations  of  art; 
but  neither  then  nor  later  did  Julius  II.  ever  testify  a 
desire  to  enroll  the  artist  under  his  flag  ! That  the  genius 
of  broadest  scope  of  any  in  the  Renaissance,  that  the  im- 
mortal creator  of  The  Supper  in  Milan  should  have  been 
absent  from  the  reunion  of  the  famous  painters  at  that 
time  gathered  in  Rome  by  the  great  Maecenas  of  the  day, 
that  he  was  not  there  with  Bramante,  Buonarroti,  and 
Santi, • — this  is  one  of  the  malicious  tricks  that  chance 
plays  sometimes  with  the  logic  of  events,  one  of  those 
transcendant  ironies  of  Fate  which  bring  to  mind  the  mys- 
terious, disturbing  smile  that  the  painter  of  La  Joconda 
has  given  to  some  of  his  female  heads.  Was  it  the  fatal 
shadow  of  Cesare  Borgia  that  did  the  artist  harm  in  the 
Rovere’s  mind  ? Or  was  it  not  rather  the  reputation,  too 
well  established,  of  the  sublime  delayer,  of  his  slow, 
vagrant  work,  always  reconsidered,  never  satisfying? 
But  it  would  have  been  curious  to  see  the  pontefice  terribile 
in  collision,  not  merely  with  Michelangelo’s  shy  and  savage 
temper,  but  also  with  the  genial  indolence  of  Rionardo.1 

1 Lionardo  was  never  in  Rome  until  after  the  death  of  Julius  II., 
and  Vasari  (ed.  Milanesi,  iv.,  p.  47)  relates  on  this  subject  a char- 
acteristic mot  of  Reo  X.  “The  Pope  having  given  an  order  to 
Lionardo,  the  latter  began  distilling  oils  and  herbs  for  the  varnish. 
The  Pope,  hearing  of  this,  exclaimed  : ‘ Oìmè  ! the  man  will  never 
do  anything  ; he  is  thinking  of  the  end  of  the  work  before  he 
has  made  a beginning  of  it!  ’ ” April  3,  1501,  the  General  of  the 
Carmelites  wrote  from  Florence  to  Isabella  d’Fste  (Gonzaga)  : 
“Ma  quanto  me  occorre  la  vita  di  Lionardo  è varia  e indeterminata 
forte , si  che  pare  vivere  a giornata"  (. Archivio  storico  dell'  Arte, 
i.,  p.  46). 


The  “Upper  Rooms”  (1508-1509)  155 

Of  the  works  executed  in  the  Pope’s  new  abode  during 
this  winter  of  1508-09,  there  have  been  preserved  to  us 
one  entire  ceiling,  the  work  of  Perugino,  and,  on  the 
other  ceilings,  several  minor  paintings  which  are  attrib- 
uted to  Sodoma.1  Perugino’ s ceiling  is  certainly  the 
strangest  and  most  unfortunate  of  the  compositions  of  the 
great  Umbrian  master.  We  see  here  the  Three  Persons 
of  the  Trinity,  surrounded  by  the  Twelve  Apostles  kneel- 
ing and  in  an  ecstasy;  the  Christ  between  the  two  alle- 
gorical figures  of  Justice  and  Grace,  lastly  a Temptation, 
where  Satan,  notwithstanding  his  horns,  has  the  vener- 
able air  of  a patriarch.2  Evidently  Vanucci  in  his  old 
age  sought  to  be  original  and  profound,  and  so  fell  into 
queerness  and  nonsense. 

Quite  different  are  the  little  paintings  of  Sodoma. 
Here  we  are  in  full  Renaissance,  with  its  charming  ele- 
gance and  its  classic  enchantment.  We  have,  as  it  were, 
a foretaste  of  the  Farnesina  and  the  Villa  Madama. 
The  graceful  artist  shows  inexhaustible  inventiveness  in 
his  panels  painted  in  flat  tints  and  his  little  coloured 
frames  with  backgrounds  of  gold.  Seeking  inspiration 
from  so  many  antique  bas-reliefs  and  so  many  verses  of 
Anacreon,  Bazzi  retraces  by  turns  Roman  military  scenes, 
and  the  adventures  of  Venus,  Eros,  Vulcan,  and  Antiope. 
War  and  Eove  ! Subjects  perhaps  unsuited  to  the  abode 

1 We  know  that  Raffaello  preserved  Perugino’s  work  as  a mark 
of  respect  to  his  former  master,  and  that  he  saved,  as  far  as  pos- 
sible, the  ornamental  part  in  the  ceilings  of  the  Incendio  and  the 
Eliodoro. 

2 This  last  composition  is  so  confused  that  Cavalcasene  finds  in  it 
God  the  Father  between  the  Son  and  the  Spirit  of  Evil. 


156  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


of  a Pope,  but  it  was  perhaps  to  celebrate  the  fame  of 
Julius  Caesar,  and  Julius  II.  might  take  what  part  of  it 
belonged  to  him. 

We  lack  information  as  to  the  work  done  in  these  rooms 
by  Suardi,  Lotto,  and  the  other  rivals;  we  know  only 
that,  in  the  spring  of  1509,  all  these  artists  were  still  at 
their  posts  and  at  their  labours  when  a decision  suddenly 
dismissed  the  industrious  band  and  scattered  them  to  the 
winds.  A pupil  of  Vanucci,  scarcely  twenty-five  years  of 
age,  and  just  arrived  from  Florence,  had  submitted  to  the 
Pope  some  specimens  of  his  art,  and  that  art  had  enrap- 
tured the  skilled  connoisseur,  and  had  caused  him  to  form 
the  highest  opinion  of  the  garzone,  had  also  caused  him 
to  become  disgusted  with  the  paintings  at  that  moment  in 
process  of  execution  in  the  Vatican  Palace.  Imperious 
and  impetuous  as  usual,  the  Rovere  unceremoniously 
dismisses  Perugino,  Bazzi,  and  the  rest,  and  orders  their 
work  to  be  effaced  in  the  “ upper  rooms  ” ; the  decoration 
of  the  appartamento  is  henceforth  entrusted  to  Raffaello 
Santi  alone. 

He  was  completely  unknown  on  the  banks  of  the  Tiber, 
and  but  little  known — whatever  has  been  said — on  the 
banks  of  the  Arno  even.  On  the  eve  of  his  dazzling  suc- 
cess in  Rome,  and  after  a residence  of  some  years  in 
Florence,  he  still  has  need  (April,  1508)  of  a letter  of 
recommendation  to  the  gonfalonier  Soderini,  “ in  respect 
to  a certain  hall  of  which  his  Lordship  has  the  disposal.”  1 

1 Letter  of  Raffaello  to  his  maternal  uncle,  Simone  Ciarla,  in 
Perugia  (Florence,  April  21,  1508).  It  is  truly  surprising  to  see  so 
many  modern  biographers,  with  Cavalcasene  at  their  head,  draw  a 


The  “Upper  Rooms”  (1508-1509)  157 

He  had,  however,  already  completed  more  than  one  re- 
markable picture,  had  painted  especially  several  of  those 
Madonnas  which  are  now  the  pride  of  the  richest  galleries 
in  Europe;  but  in  the  matter  of  great  mural  compositions 
— the  only  paintings  which  at  this  epoch  established  the 
reputation  of  a master — his  work  up  to  this  time  included 
scarcely  more  than  a fresco  in  the  church  of  San  Severo  in 
Perugia,  which  was  left  unfinished.  It  was  evidently  to 
give  proof  of  his  talent  in  monumental  art  that  Raffaello 
wished  to  obtain  one  of  the  halls  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio 
in  Florence  and,  to  that  end,  sought  a letter  of  introduc- 
tion to  Soderini.  He  sought  this  letter  from  his  sovereign, 
Francesco  Maria  della  Rovere,  who  had  just  succeeded 
Duke  Guidubaldo,  always  a friend  and  protector  to  the 
Santi  family.  Francesco  Maria  was  the  favourite  nephew 
of  Julius  II.,  and  it  is  legitimate  to  suppose  that  instead  of 
recommending  the  painter  to  the  Florentine  gonfalonier, 

picture  purely  imaginative  of  these  years,  1504-08,  in  Florence, 
and  represent  to  us  young  Santi  as  the  equal  in  reputation  of 
Michelangelo  and  Lionardo  da  Vinci,  when  this  letter  to  Simone 
Ciarla  (which  they  quote,  nevertheless,  in  full)  refutes  indirectly, 
but  most  peremptorily,  all  that  it  pleases  them  to  imagine  respect- 
ing the  young  Urbinate.  As  to  the  supposed  letter  of  Giovanna 
della  Rovere  to  Soderini  (October  10,  1504),  and  that  of  Raffaello  to 
Francia  (Rome,  September  5,  1508),  I agree  with  Signor  Cavalca- 
sene in  rejecting  them  as  apocryphal.  Note  further  that  up  to  the 
Roman  epoch  Raffaello  worked  only  for  the  small  Umbrian  cities, 
for  ladies  resident  in  Perugia  (Maddalena  degli  Oddi,  Atalanta 
Baglioni),  or  for  second-rate  amateurs  in  Tuscany.  Amateurs  of 
the  highest  rank  and  on  the  watch  for  artists  of  celebrity  (Isabella 
d’Fste,  Agostino  Chigi,  and  the  like)  gave  him  no  orders,  and  a 
connoisseur  like  Albertini  does  not  even  mention  his  name  in  the 
Memoriale  di  pitture  nella  città  di  Florentia , which  appeared  in 
15  io. 


158  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


the  prince  preferred  to  send  him  to  his  uncle  the  Pope,  the 
famous  Maecenas.  Thus  would  be  naturally  explained 
the  sudden  appearance  (late  in  1508  or  early  in  1509)  of 
Raffaello  in  Rome;  the  kindnesses  of  Perugino,  his  former 
master,  and  of  Bramante,  his  fellow-countryman,  would  do 
the  rest. 

But  what  a date  in  the  records  of  the  mind  was  that  day 
when  the  young  man,  of  slender  figure,  long,  dark  hair, 
and  olive  skin — as  we  see  him  yet  in  the  fresco  of  the 
School  of  Athens  at  the  side  of  his  master  Vanucci — came 
to  present  to  the  old  Pope  some  of  his  pictures,  drawings, 
or  sketches!  It  would  have  amazed  the  shrewd  Tuscan 
diplomatists  at  the  Court  of  Julius  II.,  it  would  have 
amazed  Julius  II.  himself,  if  it  could  have  been  predicted 
to  them  that  this  very  informal  audience  of  the  poor 
painter  from  Urbino  was  to  have  a great  deal  more  im- 
portance in  the  history  of  the  world  than  the  gravest  de- 
liberations of  the  League  of  Cambrai,  and  the  most  secret 
negotiations  as  to  the  affairs  of  Ferrara. 

11 

We  no  longer  feel  for  Raffaello  the  excessive  and  naive 
admiration  of  past  times:  we  have  learned  to  understand 
better  the  limitations  of  his  art.  The  divine  Santi,  as 
everybody  now  admits,  cannot  at  all  lay  claim  to  the  for- 
midable drawing  of  Michelangelo,  nor  to  the  marvellous 
modelling  of  Lionardo;  and  when  we  speak  of  his  colour- 
ing we  carefully  avoid  mentioning  the  name  of  Titian. 
Also  we  must  say  this:  the  Urbinate  has  neither  the  dra- 
matic power  of  Giotto,  nor  the  emotional  depth  of  Buonar- 


The  “Upper  Rooms”  (1508-1509)  159 

roti,  nor  the  religious  mysticism,  so  sincere  and  so 
appealing,  of  Fra  Angelico;  still  less  do  we  ever  see  him 
in  hand  to  hand  struggle  with  Nature,  plucking  her 
secret  from  her  like  the  author  of  La  foconda.1 2  But  he 
has  an  exquisite,  transcendent  feeling  of  beauty,  and  a 
marvellous  comprehension  of  composition,  possessed  by 
no  other  painter  of  the  Renaissance:  these  are  his  two 
ruling  powers,  the  “ two  wings  ” which  have  uplifted  him 
to  immortality.’ 

The  sense  of  beauty  with  him  is  innate  and  immanent. 
It  manifests  itself  from  the  first  strokes  of  the  brush  that 
the  boy  adds  to  the  painting  of  his  teacher  Perugino  or 
his  fellow-pupil  To  Spagno,  and  it  develops  and  strength- 
ens itself  continuously  from  his  Holy  Virgins,  attempted 
timidly,  copying  the  drawings  of  Pinturicchio,  up  to  the 
sublime  Vision  of  Saint  Sixtus. 

This  is  not  the  case  with  his  gift  of  composition,  the 
second  great  power  of  the  painter  of  the  Stanze.  This 
gift  was  not  laid  by  fairies  in  the  cradle  of  the  Umbrian 
child,  and  it  was  lacking  to  the  youth  even,  all  through 
his  Florentine  period:  the  magnificent  power  appears 
comparatively  late,  bursting  forth  sudden,  unexpected, 
armed  cap-à-pie  like  Minerva:  it  reveals  itself  all  at  once, 
in  complete  maturity  and  splendour,  as  soon  as  young 
Santi  touches  Roman  soil  and  takes  possession  of  the 
“ Upper  Rooms.” 

Nothing  is  more  instructive  on  this  point  than  the 

1 II  dipintore  disputa  e gareggia  colla  natura,  was  said  by 
Leonardo  da  Vinci. 

2 Duabus  alibus  homo  sublevatur  a terrenis.  Imitatio , ii.,  chap.  iv. 


i6o  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


picture  of  the  Entombment  of  the  Villa  Borghese,  com- 
monly known  as  the  Deposition.1  It  is  the  most  important 
picture  of  the  pre-Roman  Raffaello,  and  bears  the  date 
1507,  a date  very  near  that  of  his  first  fresco  in  the  Vatican 
Palace.  It  is  well  known  that  this  picture  was  ordered  by 
Atalanta  Baglioni  in  expiation  of  the  fatal  day  when  she 
was  obliged  to  disown  and  curse  her  only  son,  Grifonetto, 
the  author  of  th o.  gran  tradimento  of  August  15,  1500, — 
a horrible  nocturnal  ambuscade  which  cost  so  many  lives 
to  the  Baglioni  family,  assembled  in  Perugia  to  witness 
the  marriage  of  Astorre  Baglioni  to  the  very  illustrious 
lady,  Lavinia  Colonna. 

The  morrow  of  this  frightful  massacre — the  Scarlet 
Wedding  of  Perugia — Grifonetto  in  his  turn  lay  in  the 
public  square  of  the  city,  the  victim  of  the  followers  of 
Gianpaolo  Baglioni,  and  Atalanta  rushed  out  to  receive 
her  son’s  last  breath,  and  to  become  reconciled  to  him 
on  condition  that,  on  his  part,  he  would  forgive  his 
murderer.  “ She  asked  him  to  give  a sign  of  pardon,” 
relates  the  contemporary  chronicler  Materazzo,  “ and 
the  giovinetto  [he  was  but  twenty-five!]  raised  his 
hand,  then  expired  amid  the  infinite  benedictions  of  his 
mother,  instead  of  the  maledictions  of  the  night  before.” 
The  noble  matron,  so  cruelly  afflicted,  some  years  later 
had  the  touching  idea  of  offering  her  own  grief  to  the 

1 Under  the  general  name  Deposizione , is  understood  in  Italy 
the  Descent  from  the  Cross,  the  Pietà  or  Lamento,  as  well  as 
the  Entombment.  The  Lamento  differs  from  the  Pietà  only 
in  the  greater  number  of  figures  which  surround  the  dead 
Christ,  and  the  two  appellations  are  often  confused  with  each 
other. 


The  “ Upper  Rooms  ” (1508-1509)  161 


Mother  who  was,  above  all,  the  Dolorosa  : the  picture  of 
the  Deposition  was  to  adorn  the  expiatory  altar  built  at 
her  expense  in  the  church  of  San  Francesco  in  Perugia 

(1507)- 

For  an  artist  like  Raffaello,  how  stimulating  was  such 
an  order!  Many  reasons  also  lead  us  to  believe  that 
he  had  spent  the  year  1500  in  Perugia  and  been  an  eye- 
witness of  the  poignant  scene  which,  in  Materazzo’s  nar- 
rative, already  assumes  the  proportions  of  a Pietà:  the 
public  square,  full  of  agitated  spectators;  the  poor  mother, 
“still  3^oung  and  beautiful,’’  holding  upon  her  knees 
Grifonetto,  “a  second  Ganymede”;  and  beside  her, 
weeping,  Zenobia  Sforza,  her  daughter-in-law.  “ The 
crowd  gave  way  respectfully  for  the  passage  of  these  two 
noble  ladies  when  they  traversed  the  piazza,  in  their  gar- 
ments stained  with  blood.”  1 

A large  number  of  preparatory  studies  (dispersed  now 
among  the  various  galleries  in  Europe, — the  Eouvre,  Uffizi, 
Albertina,  University  of  Oxford;  or  the  private  collections 
of  Malcolm,  Bale,  Burchall,  Gay,  and  others)  testify  as 
much  to  the  extreme  zeal  shown  by  Raffaello  in  the  exe- 
cution of  this  order  as  to  the  hesitations  and  experiments 
of  the  artist  at  the  beginning  of  the  work.  A series  of 

1 One  must  read  this  incomparable  narrative  of  Materazzo 
{Archiv.  stor.  ital. , voi.  xvi.,  part  ii.)  to  know  what  fierce  and 
savage  passion  this  epoch  of  the  Renaissance  could  contain,  even 
here  in  “ mystic”  Umbria,  not  far  from  that  valley  of  the  Su- 
basio  all  fragrant  with  the  fioretti  of  S.  Francis  and  the  roses  of 
the  Portiuncula  ; not  far  too  from  the  bottega  where  Perugino  sells 
his  Holy  Virgins,  so  admired  for  their  languid  sweetness,  and  Raf- 
faello, perhaps,  in  the  atelier  behind  the  bottega  is  painting  some 
Madonna  Solly  or  Dietosalvi. 


1 62  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


these  studies  puts  it  beyond  doubt  that  he  had  at  first  re- 
garded his  subject  as  a Pietà  or  Laiyiento — of  which  Giotto 
had  given  a masterly  example  in  a fresco  in  the  Arena,  of 
which  also  Perugino  had  lately  (1495)  painted  a very 
beautiful  one  for  the  church  of  Santa  Clara  in  Florence 
(now  in  the  Pitti,  Hall  of  Saturn).  Among  Raffaello’s 
sketches  bearing  upon  this  first  intention  as  to  the  picture, 
must  be  mentioned,  first  of  all,  an  admirable  drawing  in 
bistre  now  in  the  Douvre  (Braun,  No.  239)  in  which  we 
see  the  dead  Christ  supported  in  his  mother’s  arms,  sur- 
rounded by  holy  women  kneeling  at  his  feet,  while  Joseph 
of  Arimathea  stands  behind  the  group,  and  the  Beloved 
Disciple  advances,  hesitating,  with  a feeling  of  touching 
reserve.  Another  series  of  sketches  centres  around  a 
totally  different  theme, — the  Entombment  or  Sepoltura. 
The  holy  women  and  the  disciples  are  here  in  the  back- 
ground merely;  the  principal  figures  are  two  robust  men, 
who  lift  the  dead  Christ  to  lay  Him  in  “ the  new  sepulchre 
hewn  in  the  rock”  of  which  the  Gospel  speaks.  This 
new  form  of  a Deposizione  had  found  hitherto  but  little 
favour  with  the  Italian  masters, — except  Mantegna’s 
famous  engraving,1  I can  recall  only  a certain  grisaille  of 
Signorelli  in  the  Cappella  Nuova  at  Orvieto;  and  this  con- 
ception would  be,  apparently,  much  less  attractive  to  the 
pupil  of  Perugino,  because  it  replaces  the  spectacle  of 
moral  suffering  by  that  of  phjrsical  effort.  But  Mantegna’s 
powerful  engraving  evidently  fascinated  him;  perhaps 
also  he  saw  here  an  excellent  pretext  for  showing  his 
ability  to  represent  energetic  attitudes  and  feats  of  muscu- 
1 CEuvre  de  Mantegna  (Armand  Durand,  plate  No.  iii.). 


Portrait  of  Raffaello  (by  Himself) 


1 62  K • > n i * • 1 I ■ • i ’ • 1 1 aissance 

ie  had  at  first  re- 
a - à or  !..  ■ which  Giotto 

.asterly  example  in  a fires.  11  the  Arena,  of 
’erugino  had  lately  (:  , • a ted  a very 

i one  for  the  church  of  Sa.  a in  Florence 

.n  the  Pitti,  Hall  of  Saturn,.  . Rafifaello’s 

..  . . ring  upon  this  first  int<  o the  picture, 

mentioned,  first  of  all,  an  drawing  in 

. • now  in  the  Louvre  (Braun,  ' m which  we 

the  dead  Christ  supported  in  h;  • arms,  sur- 

ounded  by  holy  women  kneeling  at  v aile  Joseph 

Arimathea  stauds  behind  the  gT  •>  die  Beloved 

isciple  advances,  hesitating,  wit!  *>£  touching 

reserve.  Another  series  of  sketch  ■ ■ - > around  a 
• -tally  different  theme, — the  Kat  Sepoltura. 

fae  holy  women  and  the  disciples  .n  a the  back- 

■ merely;  the  principal  fig:  ■ ust  men, 

ft  the  dead  Christ  to  lay  Him  in  " sepulchre 

the  rock”  of  which  the  Ge  -ts.  This 

oi  a Deposizione  .ad  foi  a » but  little 

with  the  Italian  masters,  Mantegna’s 

wing,1  I can  recall  onl;  am  grisaille  of 
n in  the  Cappella  Nuova  at  Or  . and  this  con- 
•»_-  mid  be,  apparently,  mura  . - ■ active  to  the 

- , • Vrugino,  because  it  -et  - spectacle  of 

tat>  ingby  that  of  physica  ,1  Mantegna’s 

; engraving  evidently  fas.  - dm;  perhaps 
a.  saw  here  an  excellent  pre*  ' showing  his 

a epresent  energetic  atl  .eats  of  muscu- 


The  “Upper  Rooms”  (1508-1509)  163 


lar  strength.  It  was  then  the  year  1506;  Mantegna  had 
just  died;  and  Michelangelo  had  just  exhibited  in  Florence 
that  cartoon  of  the  War  of  Pisa  which  was  rapturously 
admired  there. 

The  painting  in  the  Borghese  gallery  presents  to  us 
a sort  of  rather  forced  combination  of  a Lamento  and  a 
Sepoltura.  In  the  foreground  the  dead  Christ  is  carried 
by  two  men  of  athletic  build,  who  seem  to  bend  under  the 
weight;  behind,  in  the  middle  distance,  S.  John,  S.  Peter, 
and  the  Magdalen  are  weeping;  at  the  right  the  Virgin 
swoons,  supported  by  the  holy  women.  This  last  group 
is  highly  impressive;  also  the  nude  figure  of  the  Christ 
enchants  the  eye  with  the  gentleness  of  the  expression 
and  the  perfection  of  the  modelling  ; and  what  penetrating 
sadness  in  the  sober  gesture  of  S.  John  ! Notwithstanding 
all  these  merits  of  the  highest  order,  the  Deposizione  never 
is  able  to  stir  the  soul  deeply;  “ the  ensemble  leaves  one 
cold,”  is  the  criticism  often  made.  It  would  be  more  cor- 
rect to  say  that  there  is  absolutely  no  ensemble , and  here 
lies  the  radical  fault  of  the  work.  The  drama  before  us 
lacks  all  unity  of  action:  there  is  no  connection  between 
the  different  episodes;  the  eye  wanders  from  one  to  an- 
other, without  finding  any  central,  salient  point,  and  is 
attracted,  only  as  by  violence  and  most  unfortunately,  by 
the  emphasis  and  the  rigidity  of  the  two  necrophori  in  the 
foreground  with  strained  muscles,  legs  set  apart,  and  heads 
destitute  of  all  refinement.  It  was  a strange  idea  for  the 
painter  of  grace,  tenderness,  and  restrained  emotion  to 
seek  to  shine  here  by  an  anatomical  study,  a bit  of  bra- 
vura ! And  how  much  one  regrets,  in  general,  that  he 


164  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


had  not  carried  out  his  earlier  project,  that  of  the  drawing 
in  the  Eouvre,  which  was  so  much  more  suited  to  the 
character  of  his  genius!  This  project  was  more  simple 
also,  it  had  unity,  and  it  led  the  thought  more  directly  to 
the  Perugian  tragedy. 

Not  only  in  the  Deposizione  do  we  see  the  young  Urbi- 
nate thus  combine  two  independent  thoughts  at  the  risk 
of  complicating  the  work  and  destroying  its  unity.  The 
painting  which  was  ordered  in  1503  by  Maddalena  degli 
Oddi  at  Perugia  (and  is  now  in  the  Vatican  gallery  ’) 
shows  us  an  Incoronata  grafted  upon  an  Assunta  ; while 
the  delicious  predella  associates,  in  a manner  altogether 
unusual,  the  shepherds  with  the  three  magi  in  adoration 
of  the  Divine  Infant.  Evidently  the  young  artist  is  re- 
solved to  innovate  vigorously,  though  his  innovation 
should  be  nothing  more  than  the  coupling  of  two  subjects, 
hitherto  always  treated  separately;  he  particularly  desires 
to  bring  about  ingenious  contrasts,  as  of  the  robust  bearers 
of  the  dead  Christ  with  the  emotional  figures  of  the  holy 
women, — of  the  celestial  glory  of  the  Mother  of  God  with 
her  humble  tomb  upon  the  earth,— of  the  pompous  adora- 
tion of  the  kings  of  the  East  with  the  simple,  pathetic 
fervour  of  the  humble  shepherds.  But  much  more  even 
than  in  the  Entombment  does  the  incoherence  of  the  parts 
become  unfortunate,  in  this  Coronation  of  the  Virgin  with 
its  two  distinct  horizons  having  no  connecting  tie;  and 

1 Hall  III.  : the  predella  is  in  the  first  hall,  on  the  left  of  the 
entrance.  A cartoon  of  Raffaello's  in  the  Museum  at  Pesth  gives 
the  original  scheme,  a simple  Assunta.  See  Pulsky,  Raphael  in 
d.  ungar.  Reichsgalerie , 1882. 


The  “ Upper  Rooms  ” (1508-1509)  165 

the  equilibrium  of  the  groups  is  completely  destroyed  in 
the  Adoration  by  the  tumultuous  procession  which  in- 
vades and  fills  more  than  half  the  canvas  in  the  train 
of  the  Magian  kings.  A lack  of  ensemble  and  balance  is 
the  constant  characteristic  of  all  the  productions  of  the 
pre-Roman  Raffaello,  as  soon  as  he  quits  the  enchanted 
circle  of  his  Madonnas  to  venture  upon  themes  more  ex- 
tensive and  having  more  action.  The  Sposalizio  of  the 
Brera  is  the  one  exception  in  this  respect,  but  in  the 
Sposalizio,  as  is  well  known,  the  composition  is  due  en- 
tirely to  Perugino1;  the  pupil  only  refined  it  in  his  ra- 
diant transcription,  illumined  it  with  beauty  and  grace, 
lent  to  it  his  soul. 

But  if  now,  following  the  chronological  order  in  Raf- 
faello’s  work,  we  pass  from  the  Entombment  to  the  Disputa 
of  the  Stanza  della  Segnatura, — from  the  Borghese 
Villa  to  the  “ Upper  Rooms”  of  the  Vatican  Palace,  we 
find  ourselves  at  once  in  the  presence  of  a marvellous 
transformation,  and  what  has  been  heretofore  the  weak 
side  of  the  Urbinate  suddenly  appears  to  us  as  his  greatest 
strength  and  his  imperishable  glory.  The  abstract  and 
complicated  subject  of  a dogma — and  what  a dogma! — is 
rendered  here  with  a clearness,  a plasticity,  and  pictur- 
esqueness altogether  unequalled;  the  extremely  difficult 
problem  of  a double  action,  on  earth  and  in  heaven,  is  re- 
solved with  an  ease  and  a charm  which  do  not  leave  to  the 
eye  a single  instant  of  doubt  or  hesitation. 

‘‘With  what  art,”  says  M.  Émile  Michel,  ‘‘these  figures 
of  the  Disputa  are  subordinated  one  to  another  so  that 
1 See  the  Sposalizio  of  Perugino  in  the  Gallery  of  Caen. 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


1 66 

they  all  concur  in  the  expression  of  the  ensemble  ! What 
symmetry  and  order,  delicately  veiled,  preside  over  the 
equilibrium  of  the  masses,  over  the  outline  of  the  profiles, 
over  the  direction  of  the  lines  which  enclose  and  support 
this  imposing  structure!  ” 

And  we  must  not  forget  that  the  Disputa  itself  makes 
part  of  a structure  still  more  vast  and  more  imposing,  that 
a common  thought  binds  together  all  the  paintings  of  the 
Stanza  from  the  great  pages  of  the  walls  to  the  medallions 
and  angular  paintings  of  the  ceiling,  and  that  in  beginning 
his  first  Roman  fresco  Raffaello  had  already,  of  necessity, 
the  full  and  entire  conception  of  the  ensemble  of  the  Segna- 
tura, a world  multifold  and  one! 

Also  we  must  not  forget  how  undeveloped  was  at  this 
time  that  science  of  composition  which  the  pupil  of  Va- 
nucci  now  carried  at  the  very  outset  to  the  highest  degree 
of  perfection;  with  what  carelessness  as  to  the  principal 
idea  of  a work  most  painters  had  until  now  filled  one 
frame  after  another  with  a crowd  of  useless  figures  and 
disconnected  episodes!  A creative  genius  like  Masac- 
cio, who  under  so  many  aspects  suggested  Raffaello,  still 
did  not  hesitate  to  bring  together,  in  his  Tribute  of  S. 
Peter,  three  successive  incidents  of  the  same  action,  or 
to  unite  the  most  incongruous  elements  in  his  Resur- 
rection of  the  Child  and  his  Miracle  of  Tabitha.  Strange 
to  say,  even  Michelangelo  allows  himself  this  awkward- 
ness at  many  points  in  the  Sistiue  vault;  and  a glance 
over  the  lower  part  of  the  same  chapel  shows  us  at  once 
what  the  near  or  remote  predecessors  of  Raffaello  dared  to 
do  in  binding  together  and  heaping  up  subjects, — there 


The  “Upper  Rooms”  (1508-1509)  167 

are  as  many  as  five  different  stories  in  the  Temptation  of 
Christ;  five,  also,  in  the  Death  of  Moses;  and  I abandoned 
in  despair  the  attempt  to  ascertain  the  number  in  the 
Moses  in  Egypt.'  What  a prodigious  number  of  super- 
numeraries, besides,  in  these  frescos  of  Ghirlandaio,  Sig- 
norelli, Botticelli,  Perugino,  and  Pinturicchio,— personages 
who  have  no  part  or  interest  in  what  goes  on, — in  realistic 
costume  of  the  time  strangely  incongruous  with  the  tra- 
ditional drapery  of  the  Biblical  heroes  in  the  picture! 
The  striking  fidelity  to  life  of  these  personages  and  their 
grand  character,  the  artist’s  sincerity  and  his  real  talent, 
as  well  as  the  beauty  and  dignity  of  certain  of  the  groups, 
must  not  deceive  us  as  to  the  fundamental  vice  of  a com- 
position which,  instead  of  a drama,  gives  us  only  a diffuse, 
epic  narrative,  with  its  digressions  and  repetitions,  its 
prolixity  and  its  padding,  its  mute  and  inert  masses,  its 
chance  incidents, — “ its  catalogue  of  ships,  and  its  review 
from  the  top  of  the  wall.” 

The  painter  of  the  Stanze  gives  only  the  drama,  only 
the  principal  scene:  a scene  powerfully  concentrated, 
rigorously  held  to  the  three  unities, — of  time,  of  place,  and 
of  action;  no  episode  in  the  background,  no  aside  on  the 
edges,  no  parasitic  personage;  each  figure  concurs  effica- 
ciously in  the  effect  of  the  ensemble.  This  law  of  concen- 
tration and  unity,  which  has  remained  to  our  time  the 
primordial  and  vital  rule  of  every  historic  composition, 

1 The  same  frame  contains  Adam' s Fall  and  his  Expulsion  from 
Paradise.  In  the  Drtmkenness  of  Noah  : at  the  left,  the  patriarch 
digging  up  the  ground  ; at  the  right,  the  impious  act  of  Ham. 
Compare  also  the  history  of  Haman,  etc. 


1 68  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


Raffaello  obeyed  as  truly  in  his  decoration  of  the  Vatican 
Stanze,  of  the  Loggie,  and  of  the  Farnesina  as  he  did  in 
his  cartoons  for  tapestry  and  his  drawings  for  the  en- 
gravings of  Marcantonio  Raimondi;  but  with  what  dis- 
creet art  he  could  always  veil  the  rigours  of  his  law 
with  a graceful  charm,  and  turn  the  ribs  of  the  frame- 
work into  so  many  lines  of  beauty!  In  speaking  above 
of  the  master-powers  of  Santi,  I confess  to  the  omission 
of  one,  from  the  mere  difficulty  of  finding  a name  for 
it,— I mean  that  mysterious  power  that  he  had  of  giving 
his  pictures  a harmony,  a eurythmia  as  secret  as  it  was 
penetrating,  and  making  a work  of  painting  a music  for 
the  eye. 

By  what  initiation  or  by  what  impulsion  did  the  author 
of  the  Deposizione  suddenly  become  the  sublime  creator  of 
the  Disputa  ? How  did  the  Florentine  apprentice,  so  em- 
barrassed in  arranging  his  figures  and  his  groups,  acquire 
an  incomparable  mastery  of  this  science  so  soon  as  he  had 
touched  the  soil  of  Rome  ? I have  often  asked  myself  this 
question,  without  ever  reaching  a satisfactory  reply.  For 
Bramante  and  for  Michelangelo,  doubtless,  as  well  as  for 
Raffaello,  Rome  was  the  point  of  departure  in  a marvellous 
evolution:  but  I see  yet,  in  the  Eternal  City,  the  Theatre 
of  Marcellus,  the  Colosseum,  the  Thermae  which  inspired 
Master  Donato  with  his  new  architecture;  I see  there  also 
the  Column  of  Trajan,  the  Horse-Tamers , the  Laocoon , the 
Torso , and  the  other  classic  marbles  from  which  Buonar- 
roti finally  derived  his  principles, — the  nude,  the  colossal, 
and  the  impassioned;  but  I seek  in  vain  the  monument 
or  the  event  which  could  have  revealed  to  Santi  the  prin- 


The  “ Upper  Rooms  ” (1508-1509)  169 

ciples  of  composition.  This  sudden  transformation  of  his 
genius  in  the  “ Upper  Rooms,”  is  like  a miracle;  and  per- 
haps one  must  say  with  the  poet: 

“ State  contenti , human  a gente,  al  quia  J ” 1 
1 Purgatorio , iii.,  36. 


CHAPTER  XII 


IN  THE  CAMERA  DELTA  SEGNATURA 
I 

The  Vatican  clock  was  striking  three:  visitors  belated 
in  the  Picture  Gallery,  the  Eoggie,  and  the  Stanze  were 
hastily  traversing  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  on  their 
way  to  the  Galleria  Pia  to  recover  their  umbrellas  and 
sticks:  first,  a lively  group  of  Frenchmen,  full  of  laughter, 
even  on  the  threshold  of  the  Sistine  Chapel;  then  a flock 
of  young  English  girls,  visibly  delighted  at  having  “done” 
their  Raffaello;  lastly,  a party  of  Americans,  hopelessly 
confused  under  the  torrent  of  explanations  poured  out 
upon  their  heads  by  Cook’s  “ licensed  guide.”  I myself 
was  taking  a farewell  look  at  the  Disputa,  and  was  about 
to  join  in  the  general  exodus,  when  a friendly  ‘ ‘ E come 
sta  f sta  bene  ? ’ ’ brought  me  to  a stand. 

The  man  who  spoke  to  me  was  a prelate  ; he  walked  slow- 
ly, with  a dragging  step;  he  was  owlish  to  look  at,  but  with 
vivacious  and  piercing  eyes.  I had  made  his  acquaintance 
a few  days  before,  sitting  next  him  at  a dinner-party. 
On  that  occasion  our  talk  was  altogether  of  Austria  and 
the  Triple  Alliance,  and  I took  him  for  a diplomat  of  the 
papal  Court.  Eater  I learned,  however,  that  he  was  a 
canon  of  S.  Peter’s,  and  held  a post  of  confidence  in  the 
Vatican.  He  now  made  a slight  gesture  writh  his  hand, 
and  the  officials  ceased  their  preparations  for  closing. 


170 


Ceiling  of  the  Stanza  della  Segnatura 
(Raffaello.)  See  p.  186 


CHAPTER  XII 


IN  THE  CAMERA  DELLA  SE<  > NATURA 
I 

The  Vatican  clock  was  striking  three  isitors  belated 
the  Picture  Gallery,  the  Loggie,  atv.:  the  Stanze  were 
hasti'i3r  traversing  -the  Camera  della  'tura  on  their 
way  to  the  Galleria  Pia  to  recover  ti  - umbrellas  and 

sticks:  first,  a lively  group  of  Frenchmc  ul  of  laughter, 

even  on  the  threshold  of  the  Sistine  ( ' ■■  then  a flock 

of  young  English  girls,  visfbly  delightc  m ring  “done” 
their  Raffaello;  lastly,  a party  of  A»n-r  hopelessly 
confused  under  the  torrent  of  expLu  u ■:•>!*  poured  out 
. upon  their  heads  by  Cook’s  “ licensed  guide.”  I myself 
taking  a farewell  look  at  the  Di  ; *md  was  about 
the  general  exodus,  when  idly  " E come 

ne  f ” brought  me  to  a stand. 

; v i who  spoke  to  me  was  a prt  - walked  slow- 

ragging  step;  he  was  owlish  t look  at,  but  with 
■ ;••.!  piercing  eyes.  1 had  n i is  acquaintance 
i s before,  sitting  next  him  at  a dinner-party, 
hi  fin  it  occasion  our  talk  was  altogether  of  Austria  and 
the  Triple  Alliance,  and  I took  him  for  a diplomat  of  the 
papal  Court.  Later  I learned,  however,  that  he  was  a 
canon  of  S.  Peter’s,  and  held  a post  of  confidence  in  the 
Vatican.  He  now  made  a slight  gesture  with  his  hand, 

and  ■^ie'(S^'ci^!s^e/àÌe<? ^hefr" Jr?i?icr  ° ?orcfJs?ng. 

(,.aJJ3A^TAR) 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  171 

“ You  are  very  fond  of  the  Segnatura,  I have  noticed,” 
the  canon  said,  putting  his  arm  through  mine;  ‘‘you  come 
here  often;  I have  seen  you,  and  I have  felt  a desire  to 
bid  you  welcome  to  these  places,  which  to  me  are  dear 
above  all  others.  I am  far  past  the  mezzo  del  cam- 
min  da  vita  ; but  in  the  presence  of  these  paintings  I re- 
cover all  the  enthusiasm  of  my  twenties, — notwithstanding 
what  has  been  done  to  destroy  it  for  me! — Ah,  my  dear 
sir,  beware  of  innovators  ! ’ ’ 

This  concluding  appeal  was  quite  unexpected,  and  the 
tone  in  which  it  was  spoken  almost  made  me  smile;  it  was 
a mysterious  and  distressed  tone,  like  Iago’s  when  he  says 
to  the  Moor:  “ O beware,  my  lord,  of  jealousy!  ” 

“ Whom  do  you  mean  by  innovators,  monsignore  ?”  I 
asked. 

“ Whom  should  I mean  but  all  these  critics  and  writers 
of  the  present  day,  who  seem  to  have  conspired  to  turn 
our  poor  Cinquecento  upside  down,  and  assume  to  know 
much  more  about  it  than  good  old  Vasari  did!  ” 

‘‘This  scarcely  seems  the  place  in  which  to  praise 
Vasari  overmuch:  those  pages  of  his  on  the  Camera  della 
Segnatura  contain  actual  enormities.  He  will  have  it 
that  the  Scuola  d'  Atene  preceded  the  Disputa  in  date, — 
which  cannot  be  thought  of!  And  his  interpretation  of 
the  School  is  absolute  nonsense.” 

“ Very  true,  very  true  ! In  Vasari’s  time  the  Stanze  were 
not  accessible  any  day  as  they  are  now.  There  were  no 
photographs  by  aid  of  which  to  verify  one’s  impressions 
and  notes.  Besides, who  is  saying  that  Vasari  is  infallible  ? 
Doubtless  he  made  many  mistakes,  — from  carelessness 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


1 72 

and  also  from  ignorance,  and  we  are  justified  in  correcting 
fiim  whenever  he  is  contradicted  by  evidence  or  authentic 
documents.  But  for  all  that,  I can  never  forget  that  the 
painter-historian  of  Arezzo  was  the  eye-witness,  indus- 
trious and  intelligent,  of  the  Cinquecento;  and  that  to 
him  we  owe,  in  the  main,  nearly  all  the  facts  we  have 
about  the  masters  of  that  period.  Now  this  is  something 
which  is  overlooked,  unfortunately,  by  these  innovators, 
coming  so  many  centuries  later,  with  their  interminable 
hypotheses  and  their  fanciful  constructions. 

“ For  instance, — consider  the  novissima  verba  of  our  in- 
novators as  to  this  Camera  della  Segnatura,  in  which  we 
are  now  standing.  They  have  discovered  that  this  Stanza 
was  a Library, — that  it  was  the  biblioteca  nova , secreta , 
perpulchra,  which  Julius  II. — according  to  Albertini,  in 
his  Mirabilia — caused  to  be  fitted  up  for  his  own  private 
use  and  ornamented  with  exquisite  paintings,  magnifi- 
cent marbles,  and  rare  and  precious  books.  Theology, 
Philosophy,  Jurisprudence,  and  Poetry, — are  not  these  the 
suitable  divisions  of  any  ‘ normal  ’ library,  and  are  they 
not  here  represented  in  the  four  allegorical  figures  of  the 
ceiling  ? What  a profusion,  too,  of  books,  codes,  rolls,  in 
the  hands  of  doctors  of  the  Church,  classic  sages,  legis- 
lators, and  poets  on  all  these  walls  ! Is  it  not  an  evident 
and  ingenious  allusion  to  the  destination  of  the  hall  ? All 
this  marvellous  cycle  of  frescos  in  the  Segnatura  is  but  an 
Illustrated  Catalogue, — this  very  thing  has  been  said,  in 
so  many  words  !”  1 

' Jahrbuch  der  Kón.  preuss.  Kunstsammlungen , 1893,  pp.  1 et 
seq. 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  173 

“ It  was  not  happily  said,  I admit;  but  possibly  the 
hypothesis  in  itself  merits  attention.” 

“ What  chiefly  merits  attention,  I think,  is  this, — that 
no  contemporary,  no  author  of  the  sixteenth  century  ever 
speaks  of  a libreria  in  this  place  ; and  that  Paris  de  Grassis, 
master  of  ceremonies  to  Julius  II.  and  to  Reo  X.,  knows 
this  hall  by  its  present  name,  the  Camera  Signatures." 

“ They  explain  this  name  by  the  fact  that  here  Julius 
II.  was  accustomed  to  sign  his  more  important  acts  of 
government.” 

“ Are  you  quite  sure  of  this  fact , my  dear  sir?  And — 
granting  the  fact,  even — it  remains  none  the  less  strange 
that,  instead  of  calling  a cat  a cat,  as  the  French  say, 
and  a library  a library,  they  should  have  found  and  re- 
tained for  it  a name  so  peculiar,  due  to  a circumstance  so 
fortuitous!  However,  let  us  drop,  for  a moment,  the 
question  of  the  name,  and  look  at  dates.  The  opuscule 
of  Albertini  bears  on  its  last  page  the  date,  June  5,  1509; 
now,  in  the  month  of  June,  1509,  Raffaello  had  but  just 
commenced  his  work  in  the  Camera  della  Segnatura; 
how  can  it  be,  then,  that  the  author  of  the  Mirabilia  could 
already  have  seen  a library,  adorned  with  frescos,  statues, 
books  and  so  on,  in  a hall  which  for  years  to  come  must 
remain  in  the  hands  of  painters,  joiners,  and  floor-layers  ? 
For  Raffaello  did  not  complete  his  cycle  here  until  the 
month  of  August,  1511  ; you  can  read  the  date  in  the  em- 
brasure of  the  windows.  The  doors  and  shutters  are  cer- 
tainly of  a period  later  still,  for  they  bear  the  arms  and 
emblems  of  the  Medici  ; and  in  the  pavement  also,  beside 
the  name  of  the  Rigurian  Pope,  you  observe  Reo  X.’s 


i74  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


two  famous  devices:  the  Suave  jugum  and  the  Semper  si 
volge. — By  the  way,  I commend  to  your  notice  this  beauti- 
ful floor  of  the  Segnatura  ; it  is  the  only  original  pave- 
ment in  the  Stanze  which  has  remained  to  our  time. 
And,  lastly,  where,  in  this  narrow  room  shut  in  between 
two  courtyards,  shall  we  look  for  the  galleries  and  porches, 
the  aulce  et  deambulatoria  which  Albertini  mentions  as 
surrounding  the  library  ? ’ ’ 

“ But  where,  then,  was  the  private  library  of  Julius  II., 
which  Bembo  also  mentions  admiringly,  in  a letter  ad- 
dressed to  the  Ligurian  pontiff?  ” 

“ Where  was  that  library  ? My  dear  sir,  I do  not  know. 
Many  other  marvels  of  the  epoch  of  Julius  II.  and  Leo  X. 
have  vanished  hence,  without  our  being  able  to-day  to 
find  their  trace,  or  even  their  place.  The  interior  of  this 
part  of  the  Vatican  which  is  called  the  palazzo  vecchio  (the 
old  palace)  has  been  so  torn  to  pieces  and  reconstructed, 
notably  during  the  pontificates  of  Paul  III.  and  Paul  V.,1 
that  earlier  arrangements  are  no  longer  at  all  recognis- 
able; I could  not  even  tell  you,  for  instance,  just  where 
were  the  private  apartments  of  Julius  II.,  in  this  third 
story.” 

“What!  do  you  mean  to  say  that  Julius  II.  did  not 
occupy  these  very  Stanze  where  we  are  ?” 

1 Chattard,  Nuova  Descrizione  del  Vaticano , Roma,  1762,  voi.  ii.  : 
Paolo  III  fu  che  da  i fondamenti  ristabilir  fece  i Cortili,  i Portici, 
le  Sale  e Camere  del  Vaticana  Palazzo  (p.  xxvi.).  . . . Paolo  V 

ristaurò  le  Sale  fabbricate  da  Paolo  III,  dopo  aver  gettato  a terra 
buona  parte  delle  ponteficie  abitazioni,  ed  il  portico  eretto  da  Ales- 
sandro VI,  attesa  la  nuova  aggiunta  della  moderna  Basilica  (p. 
xxxi.). 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  175 

“ I greatly  doubt  it  ; notwithstanding  the  dictum  of  our 
modern  authors!  I beg  you  to  tell  me  how  we  can  sup- 
pose that  the  Rovere  occupied  rooms  in  which  artists  and 
artisans  had  never  ceased  working  up  to  the  day  of  his 
death,  and  indeed,  long  after  ? For  what  we  have  just 
now  established  as  to  the  Segnatura  applies  equally  to 
the  halls  of  Heliodorus,  of  the  Incendio,  and  of  Constant- 
ine. In  this  last-mentioned  hall,  for  instance,  the  superb 
marble  chimney-piece  bears  the  inscription:  Jut.  II. 
Ligur.  P.  P.  II,  with  the  oak-tree  of  the  Rovere  on  each 
side;  but  the  frescos  are,  as  everybody  knows,  of  the 
period  of  Reo.  X.  and  Clement  VII.  ; on  the  window- 
shutters  you  can  even  see  the  lilies  and  the  unicorn  of  the 
Farnese;  on  the  ceiling  are  the  arms  of  Sixtus  V.  ! No 
one  of  these  rooms  was  completed  during  the  lifetime  of 
Julius  II.  ; the  Ligurian  Pope  evidently  occupied  some 
other  portion  of  the  third  story,  and  the  Stanze  were  in- 
tended to  serve  finally  as  state  apartments  on  occasions  of 
ceremony  or  festivity.” 

“ But  the  Rovere  signed  his  decrees  and  bulls  here ” 

‘‘Oh!  I see;  you  make  great  account  of  Julius  II. ’s 
supposed  signatures  here,  in  presence  of  the  Parnasso 
and  the  Disputa  ! But  you  would  be  much  at  a loss  to 
show  me  any  testimony  of  the  sixteenth  century,  or  even 
of  the  seventeenth,  to  prove  it!  I am  sorry  for  your 
legend,  but  it  is  pure  fiction,  the  invention — truly  amus- 
ing—-of  writers  altogether  modern.  The  name — at  first 
sight,  odd— -of  Camera  Signatures,  perplexed  them;  it 
had  no  significance  to  their  minds;  whereupon  they  set 
about  constructing  a theory,  namely,  that,  ‘ from  time  to 


176  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


time,’  Julius  II.  came  here  to  sign  briefs  and  bulls. 
Others,  having  vaguely  heard  about  Signatura  Gratia, 
preferred  to  have  it  that  he  came  here  to  sign  pardons. 
No  man  asked  himself  for  what  reason — upon  what  neces- 
sity— the  aged  pontiff  should  thus  have  put  himself  to  the 
trouble  of  being  carried  to  a hall  ad  hoc,  in  order  to  ac- 
complish what  he  could  just  as  well,  or  even  better,  have 
done  in  his  usual  office. 

“ Now  if  these  gentlemen  had  happened  to  think  of 
looking  into  any  book  concerning  the  Roman  Curia  which 
they  had  at  hand,  they  would  very  soon  have  discovered 
that  Signatura  has  been,  from  time  out  of  mind,  the  name 
of  a great  ecclesiastical  tribunal, — the  high  court  of  appeal 
from  decisions  of  the  Rota,  the  Dateria,  the  Camera  Apos- 
tolica, and  the  others.  The  most  illustrious  cardinals 
have  at  different  periods  sat  in  this  high  court;  the 
greatest  Popes  have  passed  through  it,  in  their  line  of 
preferment.  Towards  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century, 
in  the  reign  of  Innocent  VIII.,  it  was  divided  into  two 
distinct  chambers, — a Signatura  Justitia  and  a Signa- 
tura Gratia  ; the  latter  having  cognisance  of  certain  ex- 
ceptional cases  which,  by  their  complicated  and  abnormal 
character,  la}'  outside  of  the  established  rules  of  justice 
or  equity,  and  could  only  be  decided  by  the  sovereign 
grace  of  the  pontiff  in  person.  The  two  courts  held  their 
sessions  in  the  Vatican  Palace,  but  while  the  Signatura 
Justitia  was  presided  over  by  a cardinal-prefect,  and  made 
its  decisions  independently,  the  Signatura  Gratia,  having 
usually  the  same  personnel,  could  only  deliberate  in  pre- 
sence of  the  Pope,  and  had  the  right  of  deliberation  only. 


La  Theologia 

See  p.  187 


176  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


tin  . , n’iiiis  II.  came  here  to  sign  briefs  and  bulls. 

vaguely  heard  abort  Signatura  Gratia;, 
-rred  to  have  it  that  he  came  ! _ • 10  sign  pardons. 
N o man  -,  hi tuself  for  what  rea-  • upon  what  neces- 
sity . pontiff  should  thr  - ; 1 1 himself  to  the 

tr  ■ 'icing  carried  to  a hai  in  order  to  ac- 

.vhat  he  could  just  as  ■■•••  • ven  better,  have 

done  in  his  usual  office. 

“Now  if  these  gentlemen  hr:  to  think  of 

looking  into  any  book  concern  in';  t ..  n Curia  which 

they  had  at  hand,  they  would  veri  we  discovered 

that  Signatura  has  been,  from  t : • rd,  the  name 

of  a great  ecclesiastical  tribui  : >urt  of  appeal 

from  decisions  of  the  Rota,  the  / ■ intera  Apos- 

tolica, and  the  others.  The  >n  - nur  ms  cardinals 
have  at  different  periods  sat  1 . : court;  the 

greatest  Popes  have  passed  througl  eir  line  of 

prt  ferment.  Towards  the  clo*--  ■ - . th  century, 

in  the  reign  of  Innocent  VII  ' into  two 

h rubers, — a Signal  h ■ '.a  Signa- 

. / the  latter  havin  . ign  of  certain  ex- 
es which,  by  tir  • jy  ' 1 nd  abnormal 

-,<  .t  lay  outside  of  tir  r les  of  justice 

ind  could  only  be  ’ the  sovereign 

,>rn  the  pontiff  in  person  " •••  • arts  held  their 
sessions  in  the  Vatican  P : e the  Signatura 

j '■  r was  presided  overby  a var.-it t-  -refect,  and  made 
its  r virions  independently,  the  - g Gratice,  having 

usually  tlie  same  Pe5^yjf^H^T  X j ri-liberate  in  pre- 
sence of  the  Pope,  and  ^ad^he^rigir  deliberation  only. 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  1 77 

“ All  this,  my  dear  sir,  these  makers  of  hypotheses 
might  have  learned,  if  it  had  occurred  to  them  to 
consult  Gomesius,  Danielli,  the  Cardinal  di  Lucca, 
the  Prattica  della  Curia  romana,  or  even  Moroni’s 
excellent  dictionary,  sub  voce  ; then  they  would  have 
found  it  quite  natural  that  Julius  II.,  abandoning  the 
appartamento  Borgia  for  the  rooms  just  over  it,  should 
have  devoted  one  of  these  Stanze  to  this  high  court  of 
justice,  which  was  inseparable  from  the  person  of  the 
Pope.” 

The  canon  stopped  speaking  and  with  a shrewd  glance 
at  me  seemed  to  enjoy,  discreetly,  my  confusion,  which, 
I confess,  was  great.  He  took  from  his  pocket  a gold 
snuff-box  of  very  beautiful  workmanship,  looked  at  it  for 
a few  seconds  before  opening  it,  offered  it  to  me,  by 
way  of  formality,  then  regaled  himself  with  a good 
pinch,  which  he  deliberately  enjoyed.  After  this  he 
went  on: 

“ It  was,  then,  a court-room  which  Raffaello  had  to 
decorate  here  in  1509,  at  the  beginning  of  his  work  in  the 
Vatican:  and  he  took  for  his  model  another  court-room, 
famous  in  this  respect, — the  one  which  his  master,  Va- 
nucci,  il  Perugino , had  adorned  some  years  earlier  in  the 
capitol  of  the  Baglioni, — a hall  which  Julius  II.  had  un- 
doubtedly seen  and  admired  in  the  month  of  September, 
1506,  when  he  entered  that  city  in  triumph,  and  remained 
there  over  a week.  Any  one  who  has  visited  Perugia  will 
easily  recognise  the  many  traits  of  kinship  between  the 
Cambio  and  the  Segnatura, — the  ceiling  in  compartments 

entirely  covered  with  arabesques  and  great  medallions  on 
12 


178  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


blue  or  gold  grounds;  the  tall,  allegorical  figures  of  Justice, 
Prudence,  Moderation,  and  Strength,  hovering,  as  it  were, 
over  the  august  court,  its  ensign  and  memento;  and  then, 
the  heroes  and  sages  of  antiquity  face  to  face  with  the 
saints  and  prophets  of  the  Bible.  One  of  the  most  charm- 
ing effects  of  the  Cambio  is  due — you  remember,  I am 
sure — to  an  ingenious  association  of  wainscoting  and 
fresco, — the  paintings  of  the  upper  part  of  the  hall  forming 
a most  harmonious  contrast  with  the  sombre  decoration  of 
the  stalls  and  desks  below.  The  pupil  of  Perugino  did  not 
neglect  a combination  so  admirable,  and  the  greatest  artist 
in  intarsio  at  that  time  living,  Fra  Giovanni  da  Verona, 
was  employed  for  the  stalls,  doors,  and  marquetry  of  the 
Stanza.  All  this  woodwork  of  the  Veronese  frate , which 
Vasari  praises  with  enthusiasm,  unfortunately  disappeared 
very  early — as  far  back  as  the  time  of  the  sack  of  Rome, 
very  probably — and  the  marquetry  under  the  frescos  was 
replaced  by  th  a grisailles  of  Perino  del  Vaga,  which  remain 
to  this  day;  but  it  is  important  to  reconstruct  in  thought 
this  original  setting  of  the  frescos  to  j udge  of  the  appear- 
ance of  the  room  in  the  time  of  Julius  II.  and  Leo  X.  and 
of  the  resemblance,  much  more  striking,  which  it  then 
presented  to  the  tribunal  at  Perugia.  It  was  a charming 
trait  in  that  good  and  grand  genius,  Santi,  to  have  made 
it  a point  himself  to  call  attention  to  his  model  by  plac- 
ing his  own  likeness  in  company  with  his  old  master’s, 
the  painter  of  the  Cambio,  in  a corner  of  one  of  the  frescos 
of  the  Segnatura,  for,  if  our  friends  the  innovators  will 
pardon  me,  I persist  in  recognising  (with  Vasari)  Peru- 
gino, and  not  Sodoma,  in  the  figure  at  Raffaello’ s side,  in 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  179 

the  School  of  Athens'  But  while  so  manifestly  following 
the  Cambio,  in  the  arrangement  of  the  space  to  be  covered 
and  in  the  picturesque  distribution  of  the  parts,  how 
greatly  the  Segnatura  differed  from  it  in  amplitude  of  sub- 
ject and  beauty  of  form!  To  what  a point  each  detail 
here  proclaims  discipulus  super  magistrum  ! To  what  a 
point  the  general  thought  of  the  Renaissance  reveals 
itself  in  the  conception  of  this  Stanza,  with  a power,  a 
fascination,  entirely  unknown  to  Vanucci’s  essay  at  classic 
and  Biblical  syncretism, — a timid  and  awkward  essay, 
altogether  Umbrian  and  provincial!  ” 

“ Just  as  the  great  humanists  of  the  Vatican  were  men 
of  vastly  broader  and  more  original  minds  than  the 
worthy  Professor  Maturanzo,  secretary  of  the  Perugian 
magistracy,  who  laid  out  Vanucci’s  programme  for  him  ? ” 

“ But  there  you  have  another  conjecture,  very  much  in 
favour  with  our  modern  authors, — as  to  which  I am 
obliged  to  hesitate.  These  authors  will  not  admit  that 
Raffaello  was  able  of  himself  to  produce  the  paintings  of 
the  Segnatura;  and  they  persist  in  seeking  for  him  in- 
spirers  who  have  remained  unknown, — promoters  of  pro- 
grammes,— ‘midwives  of  ideas,’ — to  quote  the  phrase  of 
Socrates.  Some,  taking  literally  a sentence  in  Giovio: 
pinxit  ad  prescription  Julii  pontificis , — have  reached  the 
amusing  conclusion  that  this  inspirer  was  Julius  II.,  in 
person  ! Imagine,  if  you  can,  the  pontefice  terribile  medi- 

1 Sodoma  (born  in  1477)  was  but  thirty-three  at  the  time  the 
School  of  Athens  was  painted,  and  Raffaello  would  not  have  been 
likely  to  assume  toward  him  the  modest  attitude  that  we  see  here. 
One  only  needs  besides  to  recall  the  authentic  picture  of  Perugino 
in  the  Cambio  to  reject  Morelli’s  hypothesis. 


i Bo  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


tating  the  theme  of  the  Disputa , — searching  out  the  data 
for  the  School  of  Athens  ! — Other  critics  have  spoken,  as 
you  do,  of  the  great  humanists  of  the  Vatican,  and  have 
mentioned  Castiglione,  and  Bembo,  and  Bibbiena;  but  the 
conscientious  Passavant  calls  attention  to  the  fact  that  not 
one  of  these  beaux  esprits  of  the  Renaissance  happened  to 
be  in  Rome  at  the  period  when  young  Santi  began  to 
work  there!  At  that  period  I discover  scarce^  any  other 
humanists  among  the  people  about  Julius  II. — who,  by 
the  way,  cared  very  little  for  learned  men — but  Sigis- 
mondo de’  Conti,  his  confidential  secretary,  and  the 
famous  Tommaso  Inghirami,  his  chaplain  and,  later,  his 
librarian;  these  two  were  learned  men,  no  doubt,  but  in 
no  degree  remarkable,  or  capable  of  indicating  the  path 
for  a Raffaello.  I would  not  say  that  they  may  not  both 
have  been  very  helpful  to  him  with  their  erudition,  and 
with  valuable  details  as  to  this  or  that  doctor  of  the 
Church  or  philosopher  of  antiquity  whom  he  proposed  to 
introduce  in  his  frescos.  Two  remarkable  works  of 
Raffaello  — Inghirami’s  portrait  and  the  Madonna  di 
Foligno,  which  was  painted,  as  we  know,  for  Sigismondo 
de’  Conti — may  very  probably  have  been  the  great  artist’s 
recompense  to  his  learned  informants  for  the  details  of 
archaeology  and  history  which  they  gave  him. 

“ In  the  Madonna  di  Foligno , Sigismondo  de’  Conti — 
whom  Raffaello’s  father,  the  elder  Santi,  praises  in  a 
rhymed  chronicle  — is  represented  as  a donor,  humbly 
kneeling,  lost  in  devout  ecstasy, — an  admirable  figure, 
with  slender  form  and  bony,  ascetic  head.  It  would  be 
difficult  to  imagine  a greater  contrast  to  this  cameriere 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  1 8 r 


segreto  of  Julius  II.  than  the  same  Pope’s  librarian,— a big, 
fat  man,  with  flat  and  placid  face.  With  what  ingenious 
art,  however,  has  the  painter  given  Inghirami  an  air  of 
acuteness  which  is  almost  distinction,  and  has  even  turned 
a physical  defect  of  his  model — strabismus  of  the  left  eye 
— into  a mental  virtue, — an  expression  of  concentrated 
thought!  I speak,  you  must  understand,  of  the  picture 
preserved  in  the  Casa  Inghirami  at  Volterra;  that  of  the 
Pitti  is  undoubtedly  not  a replica,  but  a copy  made 
by  some  northern  artist.  Here  in  Rome  we  have  still 
another  representation  of  the  same  man,  executed  by  an 
unknown  painter,  not  a brilliant  artist,  but  at  least  a 
contemporary.  The  stout  librarian  is  here  depicted  in  a 
remarkable  scene  and  at  a very  critical  moment  of  his  life. 
Some  day  when  you  are  at  S.  John  Lateran,  make  them 
open  for  you  the  last  room  in  the  sacristy,  and  ask  to  be 
shown  the  ‘ Masaccio,’  for  they  claim  to  possess  a Masac- 
cio— of  the  year  1516  ! The  picture  is  a landscape,  and 
of  a kind  very  interesting  for  the  period:  at  the  right  is 
the  Colosseum;  at  the  left,  the  Arch  of  Titus;  in  the 
foreground,  an  enormous  wagon  loaded  with  bags  of 
flour  and  drawn  by  campagna  buffaloes,  which  the 
drivers,  with  long  goads,  are  trying  to  force  backward. 
A little  mule,  comically  foreshortened,  is  running 
away,  towards  the  arch,  while  his  stout  rider,  an  eccle- 
siastic, thrown  to  the  ground  and  caught  under  the 
wagon,  shows  only  his  chubby,  dolorous  face  and  two  fat 
hands,  one  still  holding  the  breviary!  In  the  sky,  above 
the  Colosseum,  appears  in  half-length  the  Christ,  with  S. 
Peter  and  S.  Paul;  and  the  inscription  is  as  follows: 


182 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


Christo  salvatori  T.  Phcedrus  tanto  periculo  ereptus.  In 
Valeriano’s  curious  book,  On  the  Misfortunes  of  Learned 
Men,  you  may  read  at  length  the  story  of  this  accident 
that  happened  one  day  on  the  Forum  to  the  unfortunate 
Inghirami.  He  at  first  believed  that  he  had  suffered  no 
real  injury,  and  ordered  his  tragi-comic  ex-voto  for  the 
Fateran,  where  he  was  canon;  but  not  long  after,  he  died, 
probably  from  the  results  of  the  shock. 

“ I have  wandered  from  our  subject,  drawm  away  by  the 
name  of  the  worthy  canon,  to  whom  we  probably  owe 
the  Fatin  inscriptions  in  the  background  of  these  frescos. 
To  return  to  the  paintings:  the  more  I study  them  and 
reflect  upon  the  marvellous  unity  of  thought  which  pene- 
trates this  vast  whole  even  to  its  least  details,  the  more  I 
am  convinced  that  a conception  like  this  could  never 
have  come  forth  from  any  council  whatever  of  ‘ suggest- 
ing ’ minds.  It  sprang  from  the  fathomless  depths  of 
creative  genius;  it  was  inspired  by  the  Divine  breath: 
Numine  afflatus  1 — is  it  not  indeed  the  device,  in  the 
medallion  above  us,  of  that  magnificent  allegory  in  which 
Raffaello  has  represented  Poetry  and  Art!  ” 

“You  will  admit,  however,  monsignore,”  I said,  “ that 
the  Segnatura  holds  a place  apart, exceptional  in  Raffaello’ s 
art.  The  frescos  there,  before  us,  contrast  so  widely  in 
conception  and  in  aims  with  all  else  that  Santi  produced. 
These  frescos  speak  not  only  to  the  senses  and  the  imagin- 
ation, like  the  master’s  other  works;  they  solicit  our  in- 
tellectual faculties  as  well,  they  appeal  to  our  knowledge 
of  history  and  of  letters,  they  invite  us  in  distinct  terms 
1 ALneìd,  vi.,  50. 


La  Disputa  del  Sacramento 


(KVEfcvicrro) 

pv  piRtnxv  nnr  ^vr.KvyiEMXO 


182 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


Christo  salvatori  T.  Phcedrus  tanto  periodo  ereptus.  In 
Valeriano’s  curious  book,  On  i he  .Misfortunes  of  Pearned 
Men.  • . read  at  length  the  story  of  this  accident 

p.  ■.«.->  one  day  on  the  Forum  to  the  unfortunate 

He  at  first  believed  that  he  bud  suffered  no 
; injury,  and  ordered  bis  tragi-comic  < v voto  for  the 
; .nteran,  where  he  was  canon;  but  not  Ion..;  after,  he  died, 
probably  from  the  results  of  the  shock. 

“ I have  wandered  from  our  subject,  ib--.  r away  by  the 
name  of  the  worthy- canon,  to  whom  - ■ probably  owe 
the  Latin  inscriptions  in  the  background  of  these  frescos. 
To  return  to  the  paintings:  the  more  I study  them  and 
reflect  upon  the  marvellous  umty  of  thought  which  pene- 
trates this  vast  whole  even  to  it--,  le.ist  details,  the  more  I 
am  convinced  that  a conception  like  this  could  never 
have  come  forth  from  any  council  whatever  of  1 suggest- 
ing’ minds.  It  sprang  from  the  fathomless  depths  of 
creative  genius;  it  was  inspired  by  the  Divine  breath: 
A '■■■■nine,  afflatus 1 — is  it  not  indeed  the  device,  in  the 
medallion  above  .us,  of  that  magnificen  ry  in'  which 

faello  has  represented  Poetry  and  Art  ! 

' You  will  admit,  however,  monsign  > • said,  “ that 

the  Segnatura  holds  a place  apart, except0  Raffaello’ s 

art.  The  frescos  thére,  before  us,  contra  -,  so  widely  in 
conception  and  in  aims  with  all  else  that  rii  produced. 
These  frescos  speak  not  only  to  the  senses  and  the  imagin- 
ation, like  the  master’s  other  works;  they  solicit  our  in- 
tellectual faculties  as  well,  they  appeal  to  our  knowledge 
of  history  and  of  letters,  they  invite  us  in  distinct  terms 
1 JEnnd,  vi.,  50. 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  183 

to  construct  and  to  divine.  We  are  in  presence  of  a schol- 
arly and  reflective  art, — in  a way,  abstract, — I was  about 
to  say  idealogic.  Are  we  not  justified  then,  in  certain 
aspects,  in  seeing  here  an  inspiration  of  scholars,  men  of 
thought  and  reflection  ? ” 

“ But  why  not  rather  an  inspiration  of  Giotto,  of  Loren- 
zetti,  and  the  other  Trecentisti  ? ” 

I started  slightly,  with  surprise  and  incredulity.  The 
motion  did  not  escape  notice  ; my  interlocutor  smiled  with 
an  air  of  intelligence,  and  sinking  into  one  of  the  chairs 
ranged  in  a row  before  the  Disputa , he  motioned  me  to 
take  a seat  beside  him.  Again  he  took  out  his  fine  snuff- 
box; he  took  snuff  and  used  his  big  red  silk  handkerchief 
noisily;  then,  laying  it,  carefully  unfolded,  across  his 
knees,  he  went  on  talking  in  his  slow,  persuasive  voice: 

11 

“And  why  not,  my  dear  sir?  Our  masters  of  the 
Trecento  were  well  acquainted  with  this  idealogic  painting, 
as  you  have  just  called  it;  they  practised  it  extensively, 
and  often  with  incomparable  splendour.  Besides  their 
themes  from  the  Bible,  the  Apocalypse,  the  Apocryphal 
Gospels,  and  the  legends  of  the  Saints,  those  masters  also 
delighted  in  exploring  certain  abstract  notions,  in  inspir- 
ing themselves  with  some  transcendent  idea  in  religion, 
politics,  or  philosophy,  and  bringing  it  upon  the  scene  and 
into  action.  Boldly,  or  naively,  they  mingled  fiction  and 
reality,  allegorical  figures  and  historic  personages,  in 
varied  groups  full  of  life  and  animation,  thus  composing 
vast  pictures  at  once  symbolic  and  dramatic,  not  unlike 


1 84  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


those  ‘ Moralities  ’ of  the  mediaeval  stage  which  were  de- 
veloped side  by  side  with  ‘ Passions  ’ and  ‘ Mysteries  ’ 
founded  on  the  sacred  books  and  legends  of  the  saints. 
Still,  I hasten  to  say  that  no  one  of  these  dramatic 
‘ Moralities  ’ approaches  in  depth  and  feeling  the  Three 
Vows  of  S.  Francis  in  the  lower  church  at  Assisi,  the 
masterly  cycle  of  the  Seven  Sacraments  in  the  Incoronata 
at  Naples,  or  the  impressive  page  of  the  Triumph  of  Death 
in  the  Campo  Santo  of  Pisa.  There  is  no  problem  so  lofty 
and  broad  that  the  art  of  the  fourteenth  century  did  not 
attempt  its  interpretation,  in  its  own  fashion,  in  that  syn- 
thetic, encyclopaedic  language  which  had  become  a current 
speech  with  generations  nourished  upon  the  Speculum 
Majus  and  the  Divina  Commedia.  A whole  universal 
history  of  civilisation  may  be  read  in  that  exquisite  series 
of  reliefs  in  the  lower  part  of  Giotto’s  Campanile  which 
represent  pastoral  life,  the  cultivation  of  the  ground,  the 
culture  of  the  grape,  the  forging  of  metals,  navigation, 
war,  the  Christian  virtues,  works  of  charity,  and  so  on. 
It  is  truly  a course  of  lectures  on  politics  and  administra- 
tion that  you  have  in  the  three  immense  frescos  of  Am- 
brosio Torenzetti  in  the  council-hall  at  Siena.  They 
instruct  you  as  to  the  essential  conditions  of  every  well- 
ordered  community;  they  show  you  here  the  idyllic 
felicities  of  a permanent  and  free  government,  and  there 
the  horrible  calamities  of  anarchy  and  tyranny.  Some- 
thing very  like  the  stately  theme  of  the  Segnatura  even 
seems  to  have  haunted  those  painters  of  the  Spanish 
Chapel  in  Florence,  when,  in  face  of  the  Church,  Milit- 
ant and  Triumphant,  they  called  up  the  sciences  of  the 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  185 

trivium  and  the  quadrivium,  with  their  most  illustrious 
champions  of  antiquity, — Aristotle,  Pythagoras,  Ptolemy, 
and  the  others.  A glance  over  the  first  chapters  of  Vasari 
— where  on  every  page  there  is  mention  of  works  of  this 
kind,  now  lost — will  make  very  clear  to  you  the  import- 
ance and  the  wide  diffusion  of  this  form  of  painting  in 
Italy  before  the  epoch  of  Masaccio. 

“A  grand  thought  of  the  Trecento,  put  into  visible  shape 
with  all  the  broad  intelligence  and  the  wealth  of  resource 
belonging  to  the  high  Renaissance,  is  the  Segnatura  of 
Raffaello.  For  it  was  the  marvellous  destiny  of  this  man 
of  genius  to  sum  up  in  himself  all  the  past  of  our  Italian 
art,  and  to  give  to  all  its  aspirations  an  harmonious 
and  consummate  expression.  That  symbolic  and  syn- 
thetic painting  so  dear  to  the  generation  of  Giotto  and 
Lorenzetti,  neglected  and  left  to  become  almost  extinct  — 
and  naturally  enough — -by  the  vigorous  naturalists  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  young  Santi  restored  to  life  in  this 
Stanza;  he  transfigured  it,  he  breathed  into  it  the  power- 
ful, generous  vitality  of  his  time,  and  clothed  it  in  all  the 
splendours  of  Christianity  and  of  antiquity.  He  brings 
before  us  a great  pageant  of  the  human  mind  and  its 
achievements  in  the  regions  of  Faith  and  of  Law,  of 
Knowledge  and  of  Imagination.  And  this  theme — ideal 
and  abstract,  if  ever  such  there  were — he  has  handled 
with  the  perfection  of  technique  which  Masaccio’s  and 
Piero  della  Francesca’s  and  Ghirlandaio’s  magnificent 
school  bequeathed  him;  with  the  serenity  and  sense  of 
beauty  which  the  models  of  the  classic  world  taught  him 
at  Rome;  with  the  mastery  of  composition  which  was  his 


1 86  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


own  secret;  and,  finally,  with  the  grace  and  fitness  which 
were  his  native  gifts. 

“ This  sense  of  fitness,  this  exquisite  good  taste  of 
Raffaello  is  manifest  in  the  share  which  he  assigns  to  each 
—the  allegory  and  the  historic  scene — in  the  composition 
of  this  cycle.  He  does  not  confuse  one  with  the  other, 
like  the  painters  of  the  fourteenth  century;  he  does  not 
mingle  abstractions  with  drama,  personifications  with 
historic  personages.  His  allegorical  figures  of  Justice, 
Science,  Theology,  and  Poetry  are  all  here  relegated  to 
the  ceiling,  in  great  circles  with  gilded  backgrounds, 
isolated  and  remote  from  the  vast  panorama  over  which, 
from  the  height  of  their  thrones  and  from  the  midst  of 
the  clouds,  they  seem  to  preside.  These  paintings  of  the 
ceiling,  it  is  very  evident,  preceded  those  of  the  walls; 
and  it  is  most  interesting  to  observe  the  rapid  progress 
young  Santi  made  from  day  to  day,  so  to  speak,  and  from 
one  medallion  to  another.  The  figure  of  Justice  has  a 
character  still  entirely  Peruginesque,  and  is  indeed  closely 
modelled  upon  that  of  the  Cambio;  her  placid  and  candid 
air  is  not  quite  in  harmony  with  the  sword  and  scales  that 
she  holds  in  her  hands.  The  artist,  furthermore,  felt  the 
need  cf  strengthening  the  frail  conception  by  adding  four 
delicious  putti  ; but  he  did  not  fail  to  perceive  that  here 
were  too  many,  and  he  reduced  their  number  to  two  in 
the  medallions  following. 

“A  preoccupation  with  the  classic  model  and  with 
archaeological  details  is  but  too  visible  in  the  second  alle- 
gorical figure  ; nor  can  it  be  denied  that  the  multi-coloured 
symbolism  of  the  drapery,  with  its  four  staring  colours  (in 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  187 

allusion  to  the  four  elements)  is  very  harmful  to  the  aspect 
of  Science,  whose  head,  nevertheless,  is  most  attractive. 
But  what  a vision,  at  once  gentle  and  powerful,  is  this 
Theologjq  a happy  blending  of  the  Umbrian  type  and  the 
Florentine, — of  the  type  of  Perugino  and  of  Fra  Bartolom- 
meo! Thus  Beatrice  appeared  to  her  divine  poet  in  the 
terrestrial  Paradise  : the  donna  ‘ veiled  in  white  and  girt 
with  olive,  with  the  green  mantle  and  a robe  the  colour  of 
living  flame.’  And  as  for  Poetry,  the  antique  Victory 
and  the  Christian  Sibyl  in  one, — a woman  of  resplendent 
and  ideal  beauty,  with  great  wide  wings  majestically  dis- 
played, the  pure  brow  crowned  with  fresh  laurel,  the 
serene  and  limpid  gaze  searching  far-off  horizons, — all  the 
world  unites  to  salute  in  her  one  of  the  master’s  most 
sublime  creations:  this  is  the  art  of  the  immortal  Urbinate 
in  its  fullest  flower.” 

“ After  so  finished  a creation,  how  could  it  be  that,  in 
the  Disputa , Raffaello  again  returned  to  his  early  manner, 
to  the  Umbrian  tradition,  and  to  reminiscences  of  San 
Severo  ? ’ ’ 

“ Nothing  is  more  natural.  The  Disputa , we  must  re- 
member, my  dear  sir,  is  the  religious  fresco  of  the  cycle, 
the  sacred  fresco, — thrice  sacred,  especially  in  its  upper 
part,  with  the  Church  Triumphant  and  God  Himself,  the 
Trinity.  It  was  with  careful,  deliberate  intention  that, 
for  this  supernatural  world,  the  artist  had  recourse  to  the 
primitive  style,  consecrated  by  centuries  of  use,  the  ca- 
nonical style,  so  to  speak,  of  Christian  painting.  Very 
different,  as  you  see,  is  the  character  of  the  lower  part 
of  the  fresco.  There  is  the  Church  Militant,  whose 


1 88 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


animated  groups,  expressive  of  various  emotions,  transport 
you  at  once  into  a region  of  life  and  reality, — the  world  of 
Masaccio,  Ghirlandaio,  Leonardo  da  Vinci.  In  meaning 
as  in  form,  the  Disputa  is  a dual  work,  to  which  the 
genius  of  Raffaello  was  able  to  give  a marvellous  unity, — 
a unity  of  aspect,  notwithstanding  its  two  styles;  a unity 
of  thought  and  composition,  notwithstanding  its  two 
worlds. 

“ In  its  upper  portion,  the  work  recalls  at  all  points 
those  frequent  representations  of  the  Last  Judgment  by 
the  older  masters.  At  its  summit,  God  the  Father,  in 
a diamond-shaped  nimbus;  below,  the  Holy  Spirit  as  a 
dove;  in  the  centre,  the  Christ,  seated  upon  clouds,  His 
bared  breast  and  lifted  hands  marked  with  wounds; 
at  the  right,  the  Virgin  Mary  in  prayer;  opposite  her 
S.  John  the  Baptist,  indicating  with  the  finger  Him 
whose  forerunner  he  was;  beneath,  in  semicircle,  the 
great  company  of  Heaven.  Remark,  however,  the  im- 
portant change  introduced  here:  instead  of  the  traditional 
Twelve  Apostles,  who  could  not  but  be  monotonous, — 
povera  cosa,  as  Michelangelo  said  to  Julius  II.,—  we 
have  here  the  same  number  of  representatives  of  the 
Old  and  the  New  Covenant,  each  of  different  expression 
and  finely  characteristic  attitude.  Adam,  Abraham, 
Moses,  David,  Jeremiah,  and  Judas  Maccabaeus,  altern- 
ate with  S.  Peter,  S.  Paul,  S.  James,  S.  John  the  Ev- 
angelist, S.  Stephen,  and  S.  Lawrence, — an  imposing 
association  of  figures,  representing  the  sequence  of  the 
generations  from  the  first  man  and  the  first  patriarch 
down  to  the  first  companions  of  the  Christ  and  the  first 


Detail  of  Da  Disputa, 


Rome  and  the  K . - 

Mated  groups,  ex  press:  vt  oi  vamviSetn 
you  at  once  into  a region  ot  ir*.'«  nm 
Masaccio,  Ghirlandaio.  ! Mm.rut»  04  Viw< 
as  in  form,  the  Discuta  *s  > d«*  wo* 
genius  of  Raffaello  was  ,A.<e  U gt:-e  • 
a unity  of  aspect,  no'  •" 
of  thought  and  composition  jio:*nb»i 
worlds. 

“ In  its  upper  portion,  ch*  a 
those  frequent  reprwscrtieitóMA  0« 
the  older  masters.  Ac  '?■-  *t.‘.  ••  t, 
a diamond-shaped  tr  . 
dove;  in  the  centre,  the  C:ir.,*.i. 
t red  breast  anti  . 
at  the  right,  th  • /1. 

him  the  Bap'.  • • ■ • ■ 

vhoee  forerunner  ... 

eat  company  o 
poriant  change  iutroduvx-d  va 
■ ■ eive  Apostles  who  *»•>  it!  Wfr* 

msu,  as  Mi  1 hi  t ij^pfrn1  4»*d  iw 
here  the  same.  ' - 

id  and  the  New  Go'  «**  • 

finely  charaen.i  isiu  . 

‘a : David,  Jerei'M  h- 

with.  S.  Peter,  ",  ! ; 
st,  S.  Stephen  a ? 
ition  of  figures  v : • ■ ■ m 

?o  s from  the: 


n e 

, transport 
e world  of 
meaning 
which  the 
-i  unity, — 
ic-s;  a unity 
g its  two 

all  points 
: ! gmeut  by 
Father,  in 
Spirit  as  a 
mds,  His 
wounds  ; 
posite  her 
,er  Him 
ircle,  the 
the  im- 
lditional 
■ ’nous, — 
II. , — we 
. ; ves  of  the 
:pression 
i>raham, 
-,  altern- 
. the  Ev- 
imposing 
e of  the 
'Utriarch 
■ the  first 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  189 


martyrs  of  the  new  Law.  Remark  also  the  refined  taste 
which,  for  the  four  symbolic  beasts  surrounding  the  Dove, 
has  substituted  four  ravishing  little  winged  messengers, 
who  triumphantly  hold  up  the  four  Gospels. 

“ But  the  most  original  and  captivating  novelty  is  this 
vast  galaxy  overhead,  pierced  through  with  golden  rays 
and  veiled  in  light  transparent  vapours,  where  myriads 
of  souls  appear  and  vanish,  rise  and  fall,  hover  and  fly 
away, — kaleidoscopic,  magical, — a ‘dissolving  view’  of 
the  empyrean.  I have  no  recollection  of  anything  like 
this,  among  preceding  or  contemporary  works;  Raffaello 
himself  reproduced  it  but  once  afterwards,  in  the  Madonna 
di  San  Sisto.  And  this  vapoury  background,  sown  with 
stars  and  with  ‘ divine  butterflies  ’—to  use  Dante’s  ex- 
pression— is  still  further  heightened  in  effect  by  an  ad- 
mirable group:  on  each  side,  three  grand  figures,  of  radiant 
beauty  and  brilliant  colouring,  come  flying  forward  with 
the  impetuous  motion  of  antique  Victories,  with  the 
motion  almost  of  sacred  Bacchantes  — goddesses,  you 
might  call  them,  escaping  from  the  adjacent  Parnasso. 
All  these  ingenious  and  unforeseen  things,  all  these 
fresh,  luminous  touches,  contribute  a serenity  to  the 
severe,  hieratic  aspect  of  these  lofty  regions  and  bring 
them  nearer  the  vigorous  tonality  in  which,  beneath, 
is  rendered  the  Church  Militant,  the  assembly  of  the 
Faithful. 

“This  assembly  is  supposed  to  occupy  a vast  hemi- 
cycle  which  represents  the  apse  of  the  new  S.  Peter’s,  at 
this  time  in  process  of  construction.  On  the  left,  behind 
the  figure  which  is  a likeness  of  Bramante,  there  is  visible 


i9°  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


in  the  distance  the  scaffoldings  of  a fabbrica , with  work- 
men carrying  blocks  of  marble;  on  the  other  side,  at  the 
right,  the  mighty  wall  already  is  higher  than  a man’s 
head;  the  altar,  midway,  bears  the  inscription:  Julius  II. 
pontifex  maximus , and  its  isolated  position,  as  well  as  its 
cubical  form,  suggests  a foundation  stone, — the  one  con- 
secrated by  the  Rovere  in  the  famous  trench,  the  Saturday 
in  albis,  1506.  Among  many  valuable  drawings  of  Raf- 
faello, preserved  at  Windsor,  and  reproduced  in  the  Braun 
photographs,1  there  is  a design  for  this  side  of  the  Disputa , 
with  the  architectural  portion  much  more  developed,  and 
showing  still  more  clearly  the  intention, — a magnificent 
thought:  the  Holy  Trinity,  the  whole  heavenly  host,  and 
all  the  Christendom  of  the  ages  invoked  to  witness  the 
great  undertaking  of  Julius  II.  ! It  is  not  without  interest 
to  recall  that  in  the  famous  fourteenth-century  fresco  of 
the  Spanish  Chapel  at  Florence,  the  Church  Militant  is 
also  outlined  against  the  imposing  masses  of  a cathedral, 
also  in  process  of  construction,  Santa  Maria  del  Fiore. 
But  here  all  comparison  must  stop  between  the  story  of 
the  cappellone , — ingenious,  episodic,  novelistic , — and  the 
sublime,  inspired  page  of  our  Stanza: 

“ ‘ poema  sacro, 

Al  quale  ha  posto  mano  e cielo  e terra  . . .’ 

“ Heaven  and  earth,  the  visible  world  and  the  super- 
natural, have  rarely  been  brought  together  by  a painter 
in  the  same  setting  without  rending  the  picture  and 


’Windsor  Castle,  No.  159. 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  191 


making  it  most  incongruous;  Raffaello  himself,  too,  has 
more  than  once  made  shipwreck  on  these  same  shoals. 
See,  for  example,  his  Coronation , and  his  Transfiguration , 
here  in  the  Gallery;  in  both  of  these  works,  you  are  forced 
to  recognise  the  same  ‘ solution  of  continuity  ’ ; in  both 
is  lacking  the  indispensable  connecting  link,  so  difficult 
to  find,  between  the  celestial  vision  above  and  the  earthly 
scene  below.  But  it  is  not  lacking  in  the  Disputa.  The 
connecting  link — and  it  is  a stroke  of  genius  whose  power 
we  can  never  sufficiently  admire — is  there,  in  that  pre- 
sence of  the  consecrated  wafer  upon  the  altar.  The  most 
august  mystery  of  the  Catholic  faith  here  appears  as  the 
continuation  and  prolongation  in  straight,  descending 
line,  of  the  supreme  mystery  of  the  Holy  Trinity  in  the 
upper  part  of  the  fresco;  while,  in  horizontal  line,  it  is  the 
point  of  aim,  the  point  of  attraction,  to  all  these  groups 
of  the  Faithful;  and  is  thus,  in  fact,  the  centre  of  the 
whole  composition. 

“The  Last  Supper  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci  has  been  de- 
fined as  ‘ the  multiple  effect  of  a word  upon  a company  of 
men.’  In  the  Disputa  we  have  the  multiple  effect  of  a 
dogma  upon  an  assembly  of  believers.  It  is  a spiritual 
and  mystic  symphony,  whose  fundamental  harmony  is 
given  by  the  four  figures  nearest  the  altar,— the  four  great 
Doctors  of  the  Church.  Saint  Gregory  contemplates  the 
mystery  in  happy  quietude;  Saint  Jerome  is  absorbed  in 
meditation  upon  a sacred  text  which  refers  to  it  ; Saint  Am- 
brose is  completely  lost  in  ecstasy;  while  Saint  Augustine 
is  sufficiently  master  of  himself  and  of  the  subject  to  dic- 
tate considerations  upon  it  to  a young  man  seated  at  his 


192 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


feet.  These  four  notes — faith,  research,  enthusiasm,  and 
doctrinal  exposition — are  repeated  and  reverberated,  in 
varied  degrees  and  with  infinite  shadings,  in  the  rest  of 
the  assemblage, — composed  of  Popes  and  bishops,  priests 
and  laymen,  men  of  every  age  and  every  station.  Do  not 
seek  to  know  their  names;  since  the  painter  has  indicated 
only  the  four  Doctors,  and  with  them  Saint  Thomas 
Aquinas  and  Saint  Bonaventura,  by  inscriptions  within 
their  aureoles,  do  not  go  beyond  his  intentions,  nor  essay, 
following  a misleading  criticism,  to  identify  the  different 
figures  by  inductions  and  abstruse  hypotheses.1  Content 
yourself  with  studying  their  varied  attitudes  and  expres- 
sions, and  obtaining  a clear  idea  of  the  thoughts  and 
sentiments  which  animate  each.  Observe  the  splendid 
gesture  of  the  man  facing  Saint  Ambrose,  or  of  that  other, 
who  is  leaning  over  Saint  Jerome;  observe  especially 
those  three  young  men  bending  behind  the  chair  of  Saint 
Gregory, — the  most  admirable  group  of  all,  in  my  judg- 
ment. Raffaello  borrows,  it  has  been  very  j ustly  remarked, 
the  idea  of  this  group  from  the  Adoration  of  Ifionardo,  in 
the  Uffizi;  but  how  its  effect  is  heightened,  and  how  much 
more  impressive  it  is  made  merely  by  the  surroundings  in 
which  he  has  placed  it  ! In  the  midst  of  an  assembly  of 
so  many  and  so  important  personages  who  scrutinise  and 
discuss,  who  acquiesce,  or  who  hesitate, — these  three 
young  men  make  no  question  whatever;  they  do  not 

'The  Pope  who  is  standing  behind  Saint  Bonaventura  is  not 
(as  has  been  generally  believed),  Innocent  III.,  but  none  other 
than  Sixtus  IV.,  the  author  of  the  book  De  Sanguine  Christi,  and 
the  uncle  of  Julius  II.  Compare  the  Sixtus  IV.  in  Melozzo’s 
fresco. 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  193 

argue,  they  do  not  even  turn  their  eyes,  but  adore,  silently 
and  humbly,  in  the  simplicity  of  their  hearts:  and,  more- 
over, they  are  the  only  figures  kneeling  in  the  whole 
assemblage  ! 

“ Follow,  too,  from  the  centre — the  altar — the  modula- 
tions and  undulations  of  the  sacred  hymn,  till  it  exhales 
its  last  breath  on  the  two  sides  of  the  fresco:  at  these 
limits  you  will  see  the  very  characteristic  and  well-known 
heads  of  Fra  Angelico,  of  Dante,  and  of  Savonarola. 
The  introduction  here  of  the  most  mystic  of  painters  and 
the  most  devout  of  poets  has  no  need  of  commentary;  I 
will  but  note  a certain  warning  given  by  Dante  in  the 
opening  of  the  Paradiso  that  those  only  ‘ will  be  able  to 
follow  his  furrow  upon  the  high  sea  who  have  very  early 
stretched  out  their  necks  for  angels’  food,  that  bread  on 
which  they  feed  here,  and  are  never  satiated.’  1 It  may 
be  that  Savonarola  owed  his  brilliant  rehabilitation  in  the 
abode  of  the  Popes,  ten  years  after  his  condemnation  to 
death  as  a heretic,  mainly  to  the  hatred  of  Julius  II.  for 
his  predecessor,  the  Borgia 3 ; but  the  determining  reason 
with  the  artist  was,  without  doubt,  the  exceptional 

1 “ Voi  altri  pochi,  che  drizzaste  il  collo 
Per  tempo  al  pan  degli  angeli , del  quale 
Vinesi  qui,  ma  non  sen  vien  satollo. 

Metter  potete  ben  per  V alto  sale 
Vostro  navigio,  servando  mio  solco." 

Farad.,  ii.,  10-15. 

2 Bet  us  note  that  the  inquisitors  sent  by  Alexander  VI.  to 
Florence  for  the  trial  of  Savonarola  repeatedly  questioned  the  de- 
linquent as  to  his  relations  with  the  Cardinal  San  Pietro  in  Vincoli 
(the  future  Pope,  Julius  II.,  at  that  time  a fugitive  in  France). 
But  the  prior  of  San  Marco  never  acknowledged  these  relations. 
See  Villari,  Savonarola,  chap,  vii .,  passim. 


194  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


devotion  of  the  martyr  to  the  Holy  Sacrament,— a fact 
which  had  so  notable  a part  in  the  final  tragedy  of  1498. 
For  it  is  evident  that  a reputation  for  this  devotion  de- 
termined the  selection  of  the  persons  represented  in  the 
lower  portion  of  the  Disputa;  else  why  Saint  Thomas 
Aquinas  and  Saint  Bonaventura,  and  not  Saint  Dominic 
and  Saint  Francis  of  Assisi  ? 

“ But  a very  strange  idea,  after  all,  it  was, — to  make  a 
mystic  dogma  the  pivot  of  an  animated  scene,  and  to 
gather  all  the  personages  of  the  drama  around  an  in- 
soluble mystery!  But  it  is  the  5rear  1509,  and  less 
than  two  lustra  separate  us  from  the  theses  of  Wittem- 
berg.  Before  his  death  Raffaello  was  destined  to  hear  the 
distant  mutterings  of  a tempest  let  loose  in  the  north 
against  this  Basilica  of  S.  Peter’s,  whose  future  splen- 
dours he  had  announced,  and  against  this  very  mon- 
strance with  the  Host,  to  which  he  owed  one  of  his  happiest 
inspirations.  This  central  point  of  the  Disputa  was  to  be- 
come the  central  point  of  all  the  disputes  of  the  century, 
of  its  controversies,  its  strifes,  its  inexpiable  war's;  and 
soon  the  world  was  to  be — and  was  to  remain,  alas! — 
divided  into  two  camps,  confessing  or  denying  the  mystery 
of  transubstantiation.  I cannot  but  recognise,”  said  the 
canon  of  S.  Peter’s,  11  a sign  of  the  times  in  this  sacred 
fresco  of  the  Segnatura,  and  see  something  providential 
in  the  fact  that,  on  the  very  eve  of  the  catastrophe,  on  the 
very  threshold  of  the  Reformation,  Christian  art  should 
thus  boldly  affirm  a doctrine  so  soon  to  be  menaced,  and 
should  glorify  it  by  the  world’s  greatest  genius  in  its  most 
splendid  sanctuary!  ” 


■ 


Detail  of  La  Disputa, 


DKXVir  OK  pv  l)I8bflvKV‘ 


'■ie  and  the  Renaissance 

martyr  to  the  Holy  Sacrament, — a fact 
-table  a part  in  the  fnal  tragedy  of  1498. 
-nit  that  a reputation  for  this  devotion  de- 
selection of  the  persons  represented  in  the 
- -on  of  the  Disputa;  else  v.  uy  Saint  Thomas 
slid  Saint  Bonaventura.  ■-  - not  Saint  Dominic 
. iic;  . ; . Assn-i 

...  a very  strange  idea,  an-  to  make  a 

o M,,a  the  pivot  of  an  • t-ne,  and  to 

■.he  personages  • i round  an  in- 

v . -.cry!  But  it  and  less 

i.stra  separati  u.-  or  Wittem- 

Refore  his  death  Raffaello  was  destined  to  hear  the 
. lings  of  : A in  the  north 

Basilica  ol  • ■ ■ me  splen- 

u\  announce*: . • ry  mon- 

i.ii  the  Host,  to  which  • i->  happiest 

This  centr.n  v •*<•.•  « m was  to  be- 

-;ral  point  : :.U  in.  ' ’-be  century, 

rsies,  its  si  - • -•  wars;  and 

: was  to  - ‘ tin,  alas! — 

. vo  camps,  confess  ' the  mystery 

■ ition.  I canm.t  said  the 

’eter’s,  " a sign  cl  n this  sacred 

hie  Segnatura,  and  se  ’ , -evidential 

... . that,  on  the  very  eve  « > : he,  on  the 

■'  bold  of  the  Reformatio  ■ - art  should 

•bil  octrine  - >■  ><  , aced,  and 

r j By  it  by  the  world’s  gre.-v  -e.'itis  in  its  most 
- : sanctuary!” 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  195 


hi 

“ Is  not  this  also  a sign  of  the  times,  monsignore,”  I 
said,  <!  this  School  of  Athens  on  the  wall  opposite?  Thus 
facing  the  sacred  and  mystic  painting  of  the  Disputa , does 
not  this  luminous  secular  page  announce  another  and  a 
contrary  principle  ? To  exalt  science  and  philosophy  to  a 
level  with  religion  and  its  divine  mysteries, — to  exalt 
Aristotle  and  Plato  to  a level  with  the  Doctors  of  the 
Church, — how  new  and  daring  the  idea!  It  seems  like  a 
declaration  of  the  rights  of  the  human  reason  as  opposed 
to  the  omnipotence  of  dogma.” 

“ But,  my  dear  sir,  in  Giotto’s  Campanile,  are  there  not 
the  Seven  Disciplines  of  Science  at  the  side  of  the  Seven 
Sacraments  and  the  Seven  Beatitudes  ? In  the  Spanish 
Chapel,  are  not  the  great  sages  of  antiquity  placed  on  a 
level  with  Saint  Augustine,  Saint  Jerome,  and  Saint  John 
Damascenus  ? Why  credit  Raffaello  with  an  act  of  ‘ dar- 
ing,’ which  was  nothing  of  the  kind,  and,  in  any  case, 
was  no  invention  of  his  ? ” 

There  was  much  vivacity,  not  to  say  irritation,  in  the 
worthy  canon’s  retort;  but,  turning  immediately  towards 
the  fresco  which  I had  so  unfortunately  interpreted,  he 
resumed  more  calmly  and  with  a tone  of  indulgent  irony: 
‘‘Ah!  if  the  visitors  of  the  Stanze  would  kindly  leave 
outside,  with  their  sticks  and  umbrellas,  certain  ideas  of 
their  period!  This  century  has  so  formed  the  habit  of 
regarding  reason  as  opposed  to  faith — of  considering 
philosophy  as  the  declared  enemy  of  religion — that  it 
cannot  look  at  past  phenomena  in  any  other  way  than 


i96  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


through  this  deceptive  medium.  They  have  already 
‘ constructed  ’ for  us  a Dante  torn  by  philosophic  doubts: 
a Dante  even  ‘ heretical,  revolutionary,  and  socialist,’  and 
here  are  you  on  the  way  to  construct  for  us  a ‘ free-think- 
ing ’ Raffaello!  My  dear  sir,  you  are  mistaken;  it  is  by 
no  means  the  haughty  and  presuming  science  of  our  time 
that  young  Santi  proposed  to  honour  on  these  walls;  it  is 
the  scholastic  science  of  his  time  which  he  glorifies, — the 
science  of  the  trivium  and  quadrivium;  the  seven  ‘ Liberal 
Arts,’  or  ‘ Disciplines,’ — namely,  grammar,  rhetoric,  and 
dialectics,  the  trivium;  music,  arithmetic,  geometry,  and 
astronomy,  the  quadrivium. 

“ This  was  a theme  very  old  even  in  Raffaello’s  day, 
very  well  known  to  our  artists;  and  it  is  interesting  to 
follow  its  development  from  the  thirteenth  century  to 
Raffaello’s  own  time.  Upon  the  famous  pulpit  of  the 
Cathedral  of  Siena,  as  well  as  upon  the  great  fountain  in 
Perugia,  Niccolà  Pisano  has  represented  the  Seven  Disci- 
plines of  the  trivium  and  quadrivium  in  allegorical  female 
figures  with  various  emblems.  In  Giotto’s  Campanile  of 
the  century  following,  instead  of  allegorical  figures  there 
are  Greek  and  Roman  personages  who  represent  the 
Liberal  Arts  in  action.  A little  later  than  this,  in  the 
Spanish  Chapel,  the  two  systems  are  combined:  the  alle- 
gorical figures  are  enthroned  with  their  emblems  in  splen- 
did niches,  and  at  the  feet  of  each  is  seated  a sage  of  ancient 
times,  fantastically  attired;  the  astronomer  Ptolemy, 
among  others, — confused  with  one  of  the  kings  of  the  same 
name, — gallantly  wears  the  other’s  crown  ; and  this  amus- 
ing mistake  is  perpetuated  by  Melozzo  da  Forli,  and  even 


L,a  Scuola  d’  Atene  (Raffaello) 


XAv  gonorv  d,  yxn'iiE  ( KVEiivErro) 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 

eptive  me  already 

a 'Dame  torn  - 1 .c  doubts: 

.ereticai,  revolut ic  ! wr  dist,’  and 

on  the  way  to  ooustn  it  :e-think- 

deai  ; it  is  by 

u jity  and  pres’.'i:  ‘ our  time 

proposed  to  hov-r  . ills; . it  is 

. •nee  or'  bis  tr.  ■ es, — tbe 

r,  vi  um  and  <;;•  ■ ■ ‘Liberal 

plines,  --IJ  toric,  and 

: - irivium;  nui  v.  letry,  and 

the  quadrivium 

a s a theme  ver  ■ tello’s  day, 

C ".own  to  our  :ir‘  : • - sting  to 

-,  development  tV  ■ - ntury  to 

>wn  time.  U }»■•*«  ’d  °f  the 

Siena,  as  well  r . ■ • - mntain  in 

"v  olà  Pisano  ha*  1 ; ’«n  Disci- 

• C.:_  trivium  and  •/:<  female 

various  en.  anile  of 

■ following,  instead  of  - ■ • ires  there' 

•ad  Roman  r.  - - ( resent  the 

- in  action.  .A  : c ";s,  in  the 

; the  two  sys.—.o-  ' the  alle- 
ge enthrone  iSin  splen- 

ai.-i  1:  . at  the  feet  of  each  • > , e of  ancient 

r ' tolemy 

among  others, — co  fused  with  n;o  of  the  same 

a.  .me, — gallantly  wears  the  other's  -v  am  ! this  amus- 
■ ike  is  perpetuated  by  Me  F orli,  and  even 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  197 

by  Raffaello  in  the  fresco  before  us.  Of  that  series  of  pic- 
tures having  for  their  subjects  the  Seven  Liberal  Arts  that 
Melozzo  composed  for  the  library  of  Federico  da  Monte- 
feltro,  Duke  of  Urbino,  four  remain  to  us,  and  are  divided 
between  the  galleries  of  London  and  Berlin.  There  is 
always  the  combination  originated  by  the  painter  of  the 
capellone , — a Science  seated  upon  her  throne,  and  an  adept 
in  gorgeous  attire  at  her  feet,  or,  rather,  kneeling  before 
her  on  the  steps  of  the  throne  ; the  background,  however, 
is  here  a stately  building,  and  the  adept  represents  some 
contemporary  prince:  the  devotee  who  kneels  before  Dia- 
lectics is  Duke  Federico  in  person!  Finally,  the  Hall  of 
the  Classics  so  called,  in  the  appartamento  Borgia  here  in 
the  Vatican,  forms  the  last  link  of  the  chain  extending 
from  the  Siennese  Cathedral  to  the  Stanza  della  Segna- 
tura. The  cycle  of  the  Seven  Disciplines,  painted  in  this 
Hall  of  the  Classics  by  Pinturicchio,  does  not  materially 
differ  from  the  received  type;  but  each  figure  has  for  back- 
ground a very  extensive  portico  or  landscape,  and  is  sur- 
rounded by  a great  number  of  persons — masters,  disciples, 
and  men  of  various  conditions;  in  the  train  of  Geometry 
there  is  even  a turbaned  figure — which  seems  to  be  a gen- 
erous allusion  to  the  services  rendered  us  in  this  branch 
of  knowledge  by  the  followers  of  Mohammed. 

“ To  conclude  this  rapid  survey,  a word  as  to  the  attri- 
butes by  which  all  these  predecessors  of  Raffaello  have 
sought  to  characterise  the  different  sciences.  Astronomy 
is  almost  always  represented  with  a globe;  Geometry, 
with  a compass,  a square,  or  a disk  ; Music  with  a harp,  an 
organ,  a viol,  or  some  other  instrument;  Arithmetic,  with 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


198 

an  abacus,  the  Pythagorean  table;  Grammar  is  accom- 
panied by  a child,  or  perhaps  several  children.  Besides 
these  clear  and  expressive  attributes,  there  are  others 
whose  meaning  is  less  evident:  a cornucopia  or  a pair  of 
serpents  designates  Dialectics;  Rhetoric  wears  a laurel 
wreath,  or  is  armed  with  a sword;  often  she  holds  a book 
or  a roll.  These  two  sciences,  being  especially  abstract, 
present  almost  insuperable  difficulties  to  any  attempt  at 
characterisation;  and  Raffaello  himself  experienced  this, 
especially  as  regards  Rhetoric. 

“ For — as  judicious  observers  have  already  had  occasion 
to  remark — while  eliminating  from  his  grand  composition 
thrones  and  personifications,  allegories  and  symbols,  and 
making  a vivid  dramatic  picture  of  human  knowledge,  the 
Urbinate  painter  has,  nevertheless,  conceived  of  this 
knowledge,  according  to  the  ideas  current  in  his  time,  as 
trivium  and  quadrivium , and  has  sought  to  make  its  seven 
traditional  parts  distinct  and  recognisable.  On  the  left, 
quite  on  the  edge  of  the  picture,  an  old  man  with  a child, 
a youth,  and  a man  in  mature  life,  gathered  about  an  open 
book  lying  on  a pedestal,  form  the  division  of  Grammar. 
Those  of  Arithmetic  and  of  Music  come  next,  in  the 
foreground  and  lower  down.  Raffaello  has  ingeniously 
taken  advantage  of  the  already  consecrated  figure  of 
Pythagoras  to  associate  together  the  two  sister  sciences. 
Did  not  the  Samian  philosopher  say  that  all  the  universe 
was  harmony  and  number  ? And,  moreover,  Boetius,  the 
special  legislator  of  the  Seven  Disciplines,  taught  that 
music  became  a science  only  through  its  relations  to  the 
science  of  numbers.  Accordingly  it  is  not  the  simple 


1-H 


Detail  of  L, a Scuoea 


5)R>]-VTr  or  i'v  fjcnorv' 


Rome  and  the  Renaio 

icus,  the  Pythagorean  table 
■ ih.-  by  a child,  or  perhaps  sew:  ,L 
v clear  and  expressive  attrim ■ . 
a hose  meaning  is  less  evident  a co  t 
crpents  designates  Dialectics.  Rhetor 
wreath,  or  is  armed  with  a swor  : 
or  a roll.  These  two  sciences.  . : 

present  almost  insuperable  dilfiei 
characterisation;  and  Raffaello  - ‘ 

especially  as  regards  Rhetor:-.. 

is  j ndicious  observers  h 
to  remark — while  eliminating  hon 
thrones  and  personifications.  ' 
v. ,.ikiug  a vivid  dramatic  pictm 
Urbinate  painter  has,  never P 
knowledge,  according  to  the  rri 

trivium  and  quadrivium , and  t - -i  ' 
traditional  parts  distinct  an  \ reco  nisa 
411  ite  on  the  edge  of  the  piolm: 
a youth,  and  a man  in  mature  ■ w 1 
- lying  on  a pedestal,  form 
Thu  ..  of  Arithmetic  and  or  M 
tot  eg  round  and  lower  down,  k 
taken  advantage  of  the  al  read  \ 
Pythagoras  to  associate  together 
Did  not  the  Samian  philosopher  ■> 
was  harmony  and  number?  And 
spedai  legislator  of  the  Seven,  i'har 
usic  became  a science  only  throng!, 
science  of  numbers.  According !> 


-ance 

ar  is  accom- 
n.  Besides 
. are  others 
or  a pair  of 
rs  a laurel 
o ids  a book 
: 1 ! y abstract, 
attempt  at 

■ ienced  this, 

had  occasion 
-od  composition 
symbols,  and 
. knowledge,  the 
•nceived  of  this 
nit  in  his  time,  as 
: > make  its  seven 
On  the  left, 
t;  .m  with  a child, 
ut  ail  open 
> Grammar. 

■ ext,  in  the 
ingeniously 

' cd  figure  of 
-t  :r  sciences, 
he  universe 
'oetius,  the 
t rught  that 
dons  to  the 
ne  simple 


V 


_ 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  199 


abacus  which  serves  as  attribute  here;  the  young  man 
kneeling  before  the  sage  of  Crotona  presents  to  him  the 
harmonic  table,  with  the  signs  of  the  scale,  and  the 
‘divine’  figures  of  the  decad.  The  man  in  a turban 
leaning  over  Pythagoras  is  a feature  borrowed  from  Pin- 
turicchio,  indicating  the  Arab  share  in  mathematical 
studies.  On  the  opposite  side,  at  the  right,  you  see 
Geometry  and  Astronomy.  The  famous  group  in  which 
Archimedes  or  Euclid,  with  the  features  of  Bramante, 
designs  with  his  compass  triangles  upon  a slate,  speaks 
very  clearly.  Nor  can  any  doubt  exist  as  to  the  two 
sages  who  stand  behind  this  group,  and  of  whom  one 
holds  a terrestrial  globe  and  the  other  a starry  sphere. 
Ptolemy  is  revealed  by  his  usurped  crown,  while  the  face, 
as  well  as  the  Oriental  costume  of  his  companion — Vasari’s 
Zoroaster — directs  our  thoughts  to  the  Chaldeans  and 
Babylonians  who  were  the  first  to  understand  the  move- 
ment of  the  celestial  bodies.  On  the  other  hand,  and  for 
reasons  which  I have  already  had  the  honour  of  indicating 
to  you,  it  is  not  so  easy  to  recognise  Rhetoric  in  this  im- 
posing personage — perhaps  Demosthenes — seated  quite  in 
the  centre  of  the  foreground,  isolated,  absorbed  in  thought, 
and  negligently  tracing  characters  upon  a leaf  of  papyrus. 
After  reflection,  however,  you  will  say  at  last  that  this  was 
the  only  way  to  represent  in  painting  the  science  of  letters 
and  of  eloquence.  Raffaello  himself  seems  to  have  hesitated 
long  before  this  arduous  problem,  and  to  have  decided  only 
at  the  last  moment,  for  this  figure,  from  every  point  of 
view  important,  is  still  lacking  in  the  splendid  cartoon  of 
our  fresco  which  is  preserved  in  the  Ambrosian  Library 


200  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


in  Milan.  As  for  Dialectics,  that  science  has  been  repre- 
sented here  with  a felicity  and  a daring  equally  to  be  ad- 
mired : this  first  of  sciences — disciplina  disciplinarian,  as  it 
was  called  at  that  time — occupies  the  whole  upper  part  of 
the  composition,  and  gives  us  the  brilliant  spectacle  of  the 
chief  philosophic  systems  of  antiquity. 

“ Do  not  make  the  mistake  of  supposing,  with  so  many 
commentators,  that  Raffaello  designed  to  give  here  a com- 
plete and  consecutive  history  of  Greek  speculation;  you 
can  leave  pedants  and  their  dusty  folios  alone  in  the  pre- 
sence of  our  fresco.  To  understand  this  marvellous  com- 
position and  enjoy  it  as  the  work  of  art  that  it  is,  the 
current  erudition  of  the  average  mortal  is  enough;  the 
painter  himself  was  satisfied  with  this.  Plato  and  Aris- 
totle are  already  designated  by  the  titles  of  the, books  they 
hold,  and  you  will  scarcely  go  wrong  in  saluting  as  the 
disciples  of  the  Academy  and  the  Dyceum  the  groups 
attendant  upon  each  side  of  these  masters.  Farther 
away,  at  the  left,  Socrates  with  his  Silenus-masque,  is 
making  one  of  his  persuasive  demonstrations  to  a little 
group  such  as  he  loved  to  gather  about  him  in  the  Athen- 
ian market-place — some  townsfolk  or  artisans,  a beautiful 
ephebos,  a splendid  warrior,  who  is  doubtless  Alkibiades. 
Opposite,  on  the  temple-steps,  that  is  Diogenes  who  sits 
idly  in  the  sun,  covered  with  rags,  an  object  of  ridicule  to 
the  two  Epicureans  above  him, — one  robed  and  curled 
with  all  the  elegance  of  a fop,  the  other  older,  and  of  a 
type  notably  sensual.  Behind  them,  leaning  against  the 
plinth  of  a great  pillar,  some  follower  of  Pyrrho,  contem- 
plates with  a mocking  smile  the  good  young  man — in  a 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura 


201 


most  inconvenient  posture — eagerly  taking  notes,  and 
manifestly  determined  not  to  lose  a single  word  of  the 
master.  If,  with  certain  authors,  you  incline  to  recognise 
in  this  eager  youth  a delightful  representative  of  Eclectic- 
ism, I should  offer  no  objection  ; and  I would  unreservedly 
approve  if  you  designate  as  a Stoic  this  haughty  old  man 
who  stands  near  by,  finely  draped  in  his  toga,  his  isola- 
tion, and  his  pride.  On  the  same  level,  but  more  in 
shadow,  you  see  advancing  an  aged  pilgrim,  staff  in  hand, 
with  long  beard  and  sacerdotal  dress.  Him  you  may 
take,  if  you  like,  for  one  of  the  half-mythical,  legendary 
sages  of  Greece,  a Thales  or  a Bias,  returning  from  the 
banks  of  the  Nile  or  the  Euphrates. 

“ Much  farther  than  this,  however,  I would  not  advise 
you  to  go  in  your  identifications.  In  regard  to  the  School 
of  Athens , as  in  regard  to  the  Disputa,  I should  always 
say,  no  matter  about  names;  study  the  personages  in  them- 
selves, in  their  expressions,  in  their  movements,  in  their 
relations  to  each  other,  and  in  their  contrasts.  What  a 
type  of  intellectual  concentration  is  this  Pythagoras  with 
his  formidable  cranium,  and  how  subtly  diversified  are 
the  attitudes  of  those  who  stand  around  him!  The  old 
man,  trying  to  look  over  and  copy  what  the  great  teacher 
is  writing  in  his  book,  long  ago  excited  Vasari’s  admira- 
tion: ‘ He  stretches  out  his  head  and  his  chin,’  says 
Vasari,  ‘ as  if  he  would  thus  make  his  pen  larger  and 
longer.’ 

‘ ‘ Still  more  famous  has  always  been  the  group  represent- 
ing Geometry, — the  four  youths  leaning  over  the  problem 
which  the  master’s  compass  is  tracing  for  them.  P'or  this 


202 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


ravishing  quatuor , Raffaello,  it  is  true,  borrowed  Giotto’s 
idea  in  the  Ascension  of  S.  John,  in  Santa  Croce;  but 
though  the  motif  of  mimic  gradation  is  the  same  with  the 
pupils  of  Archimedes  and  the  disciples  regarding  the 
empty  tomb  of  the  Apostle,  the  composition  here  is  far 
more  balanced  and  harmonious  than  in  the  Peruzzi  chapel, 
—not  to  speak  of  the  grace  and  beauty  of  all  these  ad- 
olescent figures  and  the  masterly  drawing  and  foreshort- 
ening of  the  old  master  making  his  demonstration. 

“ In  the  third  and  principal  group,  that  of  Socrates,  ob- 
serve the  play  of  expression  so  varied  among  the  different 
auditors,— from  Alkibiades  in  his  glittering  armour  to 
the  old  fellow  peering  from  under  bis  enormous  cap;  note 
also  the  familiar  and  expressive  gesture,  the  garb,  poor, 
and  yet  so  noble,  the  captivating  ugliness  of  the  great 
‘ midwife  of  minds  ’ ; and  by  no  means  overlook  that 
solemn,  morose  personage,  wrapped  in  his  large  bordered 
mantle,  standing  behind  the  popular  philosopher,  not 
very  much  pleased  with  the  discourse, — a sophist,  it  may 
be.  Also  that  other  popular  philosopher,  a Socrates  gone 
astray,  a sage  not  even  of  the  street,  but  of  the  gutter, 
who  does  what  pleases  him  without  regard  to  the  rest  of 
the  world  ! To  appreciate  the  striking  originality  of  this 
conception  of  Diogenes,  it  is  useful  to  refer  to  the  Am- 
brosian cartoon:  the  fresco,  deplorably  injured  in  this) 
portion,  gives  but  a feeble  idea  of  the  Cynic,  as  Santi 
imagined  him  and  as  he  so  finely  placed  him  in  contrast 
with  the  two  Epicureans — he,  despising  the  joys  and  the 
goods  of  earth,  and  they,  making  pleasure  the  supreme 
end  of  life,  mutually  relieve  and  set  off  each  other! 


nd  the  Ren  • Mice 


; i nor,  Raffaello,  it  is  trin 

ved  Giotto’s 

A scénsi  on  of  S . John , in 

Croce;  but 

motif  of  mimic  gr  : -use  with  the 

\rchimedes  and  the  i-.  >.j 

; regarding  the 

ply  tomb  of  the  Apostle  iw 

io*  ion  here  is  far 

balanced  and  harmonious  : 

r’eruzzi  chapel, 

not  to  speak  of  the  grae-  -»  « 

sf  all  these  ad- 

figures  and  the  mass 

md  foreshort- 

. . ; of  the  old  master  matin. 

>t  ration. 

r . the  third  and_prin.  : ■ 

of  Socrates,  ob- 

: e play  of  expression  - 

.i!g  the  different 

.<u tors, — from  Alkibiades  « 

• rring  armour  to 

■ .id  fellow  peering  from 

.nous  cap;  note 

■ ! no  the  familiar  and  e>  ■ - 

e garb,  poor. 

.nvd  yet  so  noble,  the  e.tp*  tt:  »*g 

of  the  great 

‘midwife  of  minds’;  and  b>  hw 

u look  that 

solemn,  morose  personage,  * : 

•rge  bordered 

mantle,  standing  behind  ti  e 

oopher,  not 

• ery  much  pleased  with  the  • - 

ist,  it  may 

Also  that  other  popular  n'b  | 

-ates  gone 

oiijv,  a sage  not  even  of  the  at 

the  gutter, 

vhat  pleases  him  " :r  ■ 

* the  rest  of 

. 1 To  appreciate  tin 

dity  of  this 

• ; ns  of  Diogenes,  it  is  - 

to  the  Am - 

irtoon:  the  fresco,  wo 

.red  in  this 

ì-1  .-its  but  a feeble  i 

oic,  as  Santi 

- and  as  he  >o  firn  - 

in  contrast 

: licure:  ioys  and  the 

vii,  and  tii  :•  ck  i he  supreme 

end  of  life,  mutually  reliev  - ■ < h other! 

s .ajctjoS  /.J  no  jiathG 


> 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  203 

“ An  intention  no  less  subtle  has  brought  together 
near  by,  into  the  same  episode,  the  sceptic  and  the  eclectic, 
- — certainly  one  of  the  most  animated  and  charming  bits  of 
byplay  in  the  whole  immense  drama.  And  do  you  see, 
also,  how  much  the  Pyrrhonist  resembles  our  excellent 
friend  M.  de  Voltaire  ? He  has  the  Frenchman’s  features, 
his  rictus , his  wig,  and  even  his  long,  meagre,  bent  figure  ! 
After  contemplating  this  sceptical  head,  it  is  a pleasure 
to  return  to  the  disciples  of  the  Academy  and  the  Lyceum 
and  read  in  their  faces  the  admiration,  the  respect,  the 
gratitude,  they  feel  towards  their  masters.  And  what  can 
we  say  of  these  two  masters  themselves,  placed  in  the 
centre  of  the  vast  composition,  and  giving  the  leading 
thought  of  the  work!  Young,  robust,  his  features  bear- 
ing the  stamp  of  a certain  positivism,  if  I may  use  the 
word,  Aristotle  points  downwards  to  the  ground;  while 
Plato,  with  lighted  brow,  with  mien  of  poet  and  prophet, 
raises  his  hand  towards  the  sky.  One  appeals  to  the  ex- 
perimental method  and  to  analysis;  the  other,  to  intuition 
and  synthesis;  they  indicate  the  two  aspects  of  the  human 
mind,  the  two  poles  of  Greek  philosophy, — indeed,  of  all 
philosophy. 

“And,  in  truth,  with  the  mind’s  incessant  labour  to 
know  the  reason  of  things, — causarum  cognitio,  as  the  in- 
scription above  our  fresco  phrases  it,— we  must  forever 
turn  from  Aristotle  to  Plato,  from  Plato  to  Aristotle, 
never  resting  definitively  in  one  or  the  other  of  the  two 
systems.  Corsi,  ricorsi,  says  Giambattista  Vico;  we  move 
in  a spiral,  but  for  all  that  it  is  a circle  still,  and  the 
ritorno  al  segno  constant  and  periodic.  In  the  heroic  age 


204 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


of  Christian  philosophy,  in  the  time  of  S.  Augustine  and 
S.  Ambrose,  the  ideas  of  Plato  dominated  the  world  and 
inspired  all  speculation.  With  the  development  of  scho- 
lasticism the  categories  of  the  Tyceum  came  into  honour, 
and  Aristotle  was  the  maestro  di  color  che  sanno.  The 
principles  of  the  Academy  regained  their  vogue  at  the  close 
of  the  mediaeval  period,  and  exercised  an  extraordinary 
fascination  over  the  world  of  the  Rinascimento  ; but  the 
inductive  method  of  the  Stagyrite  regained  supremacy  in 
the  teachings  of  the  J esuits  and  the  doctrines  of  Bacon. 
The  alternation  of  the  two  currents  of  thought  might  be 
traced  down  to  the  present  moment;  but  I like  much  bet- 
ter to  call  your  attention  to  the  marvellous  equity  with 
which  Raffaello,  in  the  School  of  Athens,  held  the  balance 
equal  between  the  author  of  the  Timaios  and  the  author 
of  the  Ethics,  notwithstanding  the  predominance  of  Pla- 
tonism at  the  dawn  of  the  Cinquecento  and  the  general 
disfavour,  at  the  moment,  of  the  Peripatetic  philosopher. 
Thus  art  showed  itself  more  philosophic  here  than  the 
philosophy  in  fashion,  the  victorious  system  of  the  day! 
Nor  should  we  wonder.  For  is  it  not  the  true  mission 
of  art  to  reconcile  reality  and  the  ideal, — to  unite  ana- 
lysis and  synthesis  ? Are  not  Aristotle  and  Plato  side 
by  side  as  representatives  of  the  disciplina  disciplinarum 
on  Giotto’s  Campanile,  and  in  pictures  of  the  fourteenth 
and  fifteenth  centuries  ? 

‘ ‘ But  never  was  this  union  of  the  two  masters  pro- 
claimed with  so  much  power  and  splendour  as  in  the 
painting  of  the  Segnatura:  they  are  presented  before  us, 
there,  each  in  his  legitimate  and  sovereign  right.  If  a 


Detail  of  La  Scuola, 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 

. istian  philosophy,  in  the  time  \u gustine  and 

- Ambrose,  the  ideas  of  Plato  don  i the  world  and 
inspired  all  speculation.  With  the  m.piaent  of  scho- 
lasticism the  categories  of  the  Ly> .e  into  honour, 
and  Aristotle  was  the  maestre  d:  sanno.  The 

P”.  T'ks  of  the  Academy  regain.:  ae  at  the  close 

of  the  mediaeval  period,  and  - extraordinary 

fascination  over  the  world  or  eienlo  ; but  the 

inductive  method  of  the  Sta>:\  l supremacy  in 

the  teachings  of  the  Jesuits  m rsaes  of  Bacon. 

' ; alternation  of  the  two  < ...lit  might  be 

,d  down  to  the  present  mom  Ae  much  bet- 

•r  . .\ill  your  attention  to  equity  with 

v u : niello,  in  the  SA  m ; the  balance 

equal  I .otween  the  author  of  *4  aut^or 

of  ....  idhics,  notwithstan  • nice  of  Pla- 
to. - at  the  dawn  of  the  ■ 1 the  general 

n.  our,  at  the  moment  hr  philosopher, 

rt  showed  itsel  here  than  the 

y in  fashion,  1 the  day! 

ii-.  ; wonth  : oi  it  ■■  true  mission 
• concile  reali  t ; unite  ana‘ 

y.-nthesis  ? m 'd  Plato  side 

representative-’.  >t  >ia  disciphnarum 

’impanile,  m ’or  s m the  fourteenth 

> centuries  ? 

was  this  n Ln.e  " > masters  pro- 

v so  much  j •».«  splendour  as  in  the 

pain  , : c Segnature  are  presented  before  us, 

ther...  ,r.  his  legitiraaU  sovereign  right.  If  a 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  205 

the  side  of  one  you  see  the  statue  of  Apollo,  at  the  side  of 
the  other  is  that  of  Minerva  ; they  are  on  the  same  plane, 
relieved  against  the  same  blue  and  limpid  sky;  they  teach 
in  the  same  temple,  and  that  temple  is  the  S.  Peter’s  of 
the  future  ! The  new  Basilica,  whose  earliest  foundations 
only  are  visible  in  the  Disputa , here  is  complete  in  its 
decorated  interior,  as  Bramante  conceived  it  and  as  he 
himself  drew  it,  Vasari  tells  us,  for  his  young  compatriot. 
Magnificent  in  its  picturesque  perspective,  the  School  of 
Athens  is  still  nobler  in  its  moral  perspective:  the  grand 
thought,  or,  if  you  prefer,  the  grand  Utopia  of  the  Renais- 
sance, is  all  depicted  here!” 


IV 

“Oh,  the  radiant  painting!”  the  canon  said  at  last, 
after  he  had  looked  long  and  silently  at  the  Parnassus,  to 
which,  leaning  on  my  arm,  he  had  led  me.  “ The  de- 
licious, radiant  painting — all  grace,  distinction,  poetry! 
The  sky — unhappily  now  so  injured — still  has  some  traces 
of  its  original  blue;  rocks,  verdure,  the  springing  fountain 
and  the  laurel  grove  refresh  a man’s  very  soul  with  whiffs 
of  coolness  ! And  observe  the  splendid,  beautiful  figures, 
scattered,  not  grouped,  as  they  exchange  words  or  looks, 
or  else  recline  in  attitudes  of  ineffable  gentleness  and  re- 
pose ! Observe  Sappho,  in  her  sinuous  pose  on  the  hill- 
slope.  Notice  the  three  Pierides,  standing  near  Apollo, 
so  gracefully  intertwined,  the  head  of  one  resting  on  her 
sister’s  shoulder!  The  pose  is  a reminiscence  of  Giotto 
in  his  Herod' s Banquet  of  the  Peruzzi  chapel,  be  it  noted 
in  passing.  In  this  enchanting  composition,  you  must  not 


2o6  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


expect  to  find  the  masterly  ordering,  the  imposing  con- 
trasts, the  marvellous  expressiveness  of  the  Disputa  or  of 
the  School  of  Athens.  Quitting  the  heights  of  Theologj' 
and  Philosophy  for  this  wooded  and  flowery  vale  of  the 
Muses,  Raffaello  seems  to  give  free  scope  to  his  artistic 
fancy,  evoking  no  other  images  than  those  which  shall 
delight  the  eye.  For  all  that,  he  has  written  here  a great 
page  of  history,  depicted  from  life  one  of  the  essential  sides 
of  a memorable  epoch.  He  makes  us  feel  how  well  this 
high  Renaissance  understood  the  sweetness  of  life,  of  this 
new  upspringing  of  life  which  gave  its  name  to  the  epoch  ! 

“You  remember  Mantegna’s  Parnassus,  in  the  Louvre, 
one  of  the  most  charming  late  fifteenth-century  reproduc- 
tions of  a mythological  subject  ? In  front  of  a rocky  cave 
the  nine  Muses  are  dancing  to  the  sound  of  Apollo’s  lyre; 
opposite,  at  the  right,  Mercury  leans  upon  a Pegasus  with 
wide-spread  wings,  a magnificent  conception;  on  the  rock, 
above  the  grotto,  Venus,  standing  at  the  foot  of  her 
couch,  receives  the  farewell  of  Mars;  while,  a few  steps 
distant,  the  mischievous  Cupid  aims  a pea-shooter  at 
Vulcan,  who  is  coming  out  from  his  smithy  below  in  a 
great  rage.  Contrast  that  dream  of  springtime,  that  fairy 
tale  of  the  great  Paduan,  with  Raffaello’ s fresco, — only 
fifteen  or  twenty  years  later  in  date.  There  are  no 
dreams,  no  fairy  tales  in  the  Parnassus  of  the  Urbinate: 
the  mythological  world  is  there  in  its  reality,  or,  to 
speak  more  accurately,  it  is  the  real  world  of  the  paint- 
er’s time,  it  is  his  own  generation  quite  at  home  and 
in  its  element  in  this  golden  age  once  again  upon  the 
earth  — Astrcea  redux  ! Do  you  think  it  is  the  Greek 


Il  Parnasso  (Raffaello) 


jr  jj vkw vsao  (gvhiiVKrro) 


iii<  : Renaissance 

t masterly  t ■!  -mg  the  imposing  con- 
, vi  as  express:  - the  Disputa  or  of 

Quitting  ' ts  of  Theology' 

v-  i jthy  for  this  wooded  , v*;ry  vale  of  the 

. ff  aello  seems  to  give  ; to  his  artistic 

. u.:  no  other  images  -se  which  shall 

. eye.  For  all  that,  , ri t ten  here  a great 

i, story,  depicted  from  mb  > : he  essential  sides 
.•  cubie  epoch.  He  ; • how  well  this 

•■issance  understood  ms  of  life,  of  this 

•ringing  of  life  wi  . ’ ■ : : ie  to  the  epoch! 

>u  remember  Mantegna  in  the  Louvre, 

the  most  charming  late  Am  ■ h o_atury  reproduc- 
. mythological  su:  i • of  a rocky  cave 

Muses  are  dancing  ' !*(  Apollo’s  lyre; 

, at  the  right,  Merc  ur;  Pegasus  with 

read  wings,  a magniti,  io  on  the  rock, 

me  grotto,  Venus,  st  toot  of  her 

jives  the  farewell  a few  steps 

, it  mischievous  Lem  » pea-shooter  at 

o is  coming  cm:  m ethy  below  in  a 

Contrast  that  cima  ngtime,  that  fairy 

if  the  great  Paduan,  with  tresco,  only 

fifteen  or  twenty  years  date.  ! Here  are  no 

d no  fairy  tales  in  the  • the  Urbinate: 

■ hological  world  is  tb-  * > ality,  or,  to 

e accurately,  it  is  the  re;  of  the  paint- 

lt  is  his  own  genere-  » at  home  and 

e merit  in  this  goldeii  aye  - again  upon  the 
. .is  tra:  a rcdux  ! Do  you  ■ : is  the  Greek 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  207 

Olympus,  this  hill  in  the  picture  ? Is  it  not  rather 
some  familiar  Italian  garden,  with  its  successive  terraces 
and  artificial  rockwork  ? The  guests  in  this  enchanted 
country  are  the  very  same  donne  e cavalieri  who  take  the 
air  in  the  groves  of  the  castle  of  Urbino,  the  castle  of 
Ferrara,  the  villa  of  the  Queen  of  Cyprus,  conversing 
gently  on  the  two  great  topics  of  the  day,  amor  e cortesia. 
It  would  be  like  a chapter  from  the  Asolani  of  Bembo  or 
Castiglione’ s Cartesiano,  were  it  not  for  that  blind,  in- 
spired old  man  at  the  left,  who,  far  more  than  Apollo, 
dominates  all  the  picture  and  gives  it  a truly  divine  radi- 
ance. It  is  the  clarion  of  the  Iliad,  ringing  out  in  the 
midst  of  tne  Decameron — which  seems  to  be  but  little 
moved  by  it,  however! 

‘ ‘ What  a figure  this  Homer  is  ! How  grand  the  gesture 
and  expression  ! Of  stature  almost  colossal,  his  face  mar- 
vellously lighted  up  by  the  very  darkness  which  veils  his 
eyes,  the  Ionian  singer  comes  forward;  he  intones  one  of 
his  immortal  rhapsodies.  The  young  man  who  is  tran- 
scribing his  winged  words — compare  him  with  the  eclectic 
philosopher  on  one  wall  and  the  youth  writing  from  the 
dictation  of  S.  Augustine  on  the  other  — forgets  himself 
and  stops,  carried  away  by  his  enthusiasm;  and  Apollo, 
even,  lifts  his  eyes  in  rapture,  while  he  accompanies  with 
his  violin  the  old  man’s  voice.  For  he  does  accompany 
Homer,  do  you  see  ? This  accounts  for  the  violin,  which 
has  offended  so  many  people,  and  given  rise  to  so  many 
attempts  at  explanation.  An  instrument  whose  strings 
are  touched  by  the  fingers — an  instrument  like  the  lyre 
■ — would  not  so  well  have  marked  the  intimate  and 


2o8  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


continuous  association  of  sound,  the  august  unisono  with 
which  the  god  of  music  honours 

‘l’  altissimo  poeta 

Che  sovra  gli  altri  com ’ aquila  vola. 

Chele  Muse  lattar  piìi  eh'  altro  mai .’ 

“ Behind  the  singer  of  the  Iliad  you  perceive  Dante, 
preceded  by  Vergil  and  another  poet,  supposed,  by  some, 
to  be  Raffaello  himself — an  idea  simply  absurd;  the 
painter  would  never  have  represented  himself  in  company 
like  this,  and  laurel-crowned  besides!  I would  suggest 
— very  tentatively— the  name  of  Statius,  the  author  of  the 
Thebaid,  and  Dante’s  second  companion  in  his  mystic 
journey.  But  in  fact,  Homer,  Vergil,  Dante,  and  Sappho 
excepted,  all  the  other  indications  given  us  by  Vasari,  or 
proposed  by  modern  writers,  cannot  be  depended  upon; 
the  only  thing  certain  is,  that  Raffaello  intended  to  give 
a place  in  his  Parnasso  to  a sufficient  number  of  ancient 
and  modern  poets  without  paying  much  attention  to  the 
history  of  literature,  or  even  caring  overmuch  for  iconic 
fidelity.  We  may  leave,  for  those  who  enjoy  it,  the  at- 
tempt to  identify  the  Anacreon,  the  Corinna,  the  San- 
nazaro, and  the  Tebaldeo;  and  also  to  discover  what 
particular  antique  statues  and  bas-reliefs  the  painter 
studied  for  this  fresco.  It  would  be  an  interesting  re- 
search, if  only  the  results  of  it  were  more  convincing  ! As 
for  me,  I cannot  recognise  Ariadne  in  the  Muse  at 
Apollo’s  right,  nor  Laocoon  in  this  head  of  Homer  all 
aglow  with  furor  divinus  : the  grand  original  drawing  of 
this  head  in  the  Windsor  collection  reproduced  in  the 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  209 

Braun  photographs,  fails  entirely  to  support  that  con- 
jecture. That  the  classic  world  had  constantly  more  and 
more  influence  upon  Raffaello  as  he  went  on  with  his  work 
in  this  Stanza,  can  scarcely  be  doubted,  but  the  develop- 
ment seems  to  me  far  more  apparent  in  the  general  con- 
ceptions of  the  figures  than  in  any  borrowing  of  special 
details.  No  one,  so  far  as  I know,  has  as  yet  discovered 
the  classic  models  of  the  three  allegorical  figures, 
Strength,  Justice,  and  Moderation;  and  still  they  are,  of 
all  the  paintings  of  the  Segnatura,  those  in  which  the 
classic  influence  is  most  conspicuous. 

“ Our  Christian  art  has  rarely  been  happy  in  the  isol- 
ated representation  of  virtues,  vices,  and  other  moral, 
abstract  ideas.  It  has  never  had  at  its  disposal — as  Greek 
art  had — a luxuriant  mythology,  rich  in  varied  types, 
consecrated  by  devotion  and  poetry,  and  for  ages  mak- 
ing part  of  the  general  knowledge  of  the  people.  Our 
painters  and  sculptors  have  been  obliged  to  draw  upon 
their  own  resources,  invent  popular  notions,  so  to  speak, 
imagine  emblems  more  or  less  significant,  and  it  is  not 
strange  that  they  have  often  fallen  into  the  equivocal  and 
the  fine-spun.  For  instance,  to  characterise  Moderation 
— Temperantia — they  place  in  her  hands  two  vases  of  un- 
equal size  and  of  different  contents:  it  is  understood  by 
this  that  she  mingles  and  dilutes  a beverage — 1 puts  water 
with  her  wine,’  as  the  French  say.  Vanucci  in  the 
Cambio,  and  Sansovino  at  Santa  Maria  del  Popolo,  did 
not  scruple  to  employ  this  absurd  motif.  But  Giotto  in 
the  Arena  Chapel,  and  Andrea  del  Pisano  in  the  reliefs 
of  the  Battisterio  found  inspirations  both  strong  and 


2 IO 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


beautiful  for  some  of  the  Christian  virtues,  and,  as  I look 
at  this  fourth  great  fresco  of  the  Segnatura,  I do  not  hesi- 
tate to  class  Raffaello,  in  this  respect,  with  Giotto  and 
Pisano. 

“It  is  by  their  individuality  much  more  than  by  any 
insignia  that  Raffaello  sought  to  characterise  the  three 
Cardinal  Virtues  which  accompany  Justice.  The  Fort- 
itudei is  like  one  of  those  stately  figures  of  which  Michel- 
angelo had  the  secret.  If  she  had  no  casque  or  cuirass  or 
cnemides,  no  lion  upon  which  she  leans  — we  should  know 
her  still  for  the  personification  of  Strength.  Instead  of 
the  lance,  she  holds  in  her  right  hand  a vigorous  branch 
of  oak, — the  oak  of  the  della  Rovere  ; and  the  baby 
genius,  climbing  merrily  over  her  to  gather  the  fruit  of 
the  branch,  adds  to  the  conception  a delicate  and  touching 
trait — it  is  not  a brutal  strength,  this  Fortitudo , but  a 
beneficent  strength.  The  Tempcrantia  on  the  other  side, 
with  her  languid  eyes,  her  neck  slightly  bent,  and  her 
gentle  head  modestly  wrapped  with  a kerchief,  leads  our 
thoughts  at  once  to  the  Marys,  gratia  plena,  of  the  Um- 
brian School.  Moderation,  as  the  attendant  upon  Justice, 
is  much  the  same  as  Clemency;  hence  the  little  genius  at 
her  left  points  a finger  upwards,  as  if  to  the  source  of  all 
mercy.  For  attribute,  the  Teviperantia  holds  a bridle, — 
an  emblem  often  employed,  less  grotesque  than  the  two 
vases  of  water  and  wine,  though  specious,  however;  but 
with  what  dainty  art  the  painter  has  curved  this  bridle, 
and  made  it  a line  of  beauty  ! 

“The  Prudentia  in  the  centre  surpasses  the  other  two 
figures,  both  in  height,  because  her  seat  is  more  lofty, 


Detail  of  II  Parnasso,  2 


, ì : the  Renaissance 


of  the  Christian  tftwai,  and,  as  I look 
.--.rth  great  fresco  of  the  Sego -.mura,  I do  not  hesi- 
class  Raffaello,  in  this  ■ with  Giotto  and 


• isatK. 

I : ,s  by  their  individuality  ■ 1 ?.•  more  than  by  any 

.;.,i  that  Raffaello  sought  derise  the  three 

t . .rial  Virtues  which  see;.,.  Vice.  Ihe  tort- 

s like  one  of  those  stat  «n  * of  which  Michel- 


,m  .-.-io  had  the  secret.  If  she  h 
> ■ , no  lion  upon  which  V : 

-.nil  for  the  personificai»  oc 
< ii.  b lie  holds  in 

the  oak  of  the  < 
climbing  merrily  over 
• ; ■ .inch,  adds  to  the  cone»- .0 
trait — it  is  not  a brutal  slreu.: 
.e.u  ficent  strength.  The  7 
•v::.1'  her  languid  eyes,  her  m 
head  modestly  wrapped  ' 
it  once  to  the  Mar  vs 


ue  or  cuirass  or 
re  should  know 
; Ui.  Instead  of 
. i gorous  branch 
and  the  baby 
oher  the  fruit  of 
-,  and  touching 
. . rtitudo,  but  a 
mi  the  other  side, 
v bent,  and  her 
r hief,  leads  our 
of  the  Um- 
cut  upon  Justice, 


Moderation,  c * m- 
: same  as  Clec  - '-e  genius  at 

points  a finger  upwu  : to  i he  source  of  al! 

For  attribute,  the  1 < >><■"■  > "■’//«  holds  a bridle, 

, . d,;em  often  employed.  ■ d'.e  than  the  two 

l . v vater  and  wine,  thorn:  n aowever;  but 

v .iat  daiuty  art  the  pai;  : 1 ■ • curved  this  bridle, 
and  made  it  a line  of  beauty  ! 

' The  Prudentia  in  the  cen  v;  oses  the  other  two 
figures,  both  in  height,  bee;.;  , seat  is  more  lofty. 


c ,oasA xh/.T  Jl  jo  .iiathQ 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura 


21  i 


and  also  in  the  noble  seriousness  of  her  face.  Vanucci,  in 
the  Cambio,  has  given  this  Virtue  a caduceus,  with  four 
mirrors  around  it, — a symbol  of  the  circumspect  mind 
that  looks  in  all  directions:  Perugino’s  pupil  still  kept 
the  intention  of  his  master,  but  modified  it  in  a most  in- 
genious manner.  His  Prudentia  has  a Janus  head,  but 
the  second  face  is  an  antique  mask,  very  skilfully  ar- 
ranged in  the  coiffure;  she  has  also  two  delicious  putti  in 
her  service, — one  presents  a mirror  in  front;  the  other, 
behind  her,  holds  up  a torch  as  high  as  the  mask. 

“ At  the  same  time,  far  above  all  these  subtilties  of 
thought  which  are  the  special  gratification  of  an  enlight- 
ened public,  I place,  it  is  needless  to  say,  the  truly  artistic 
qualities  of  this  enchanting  painter,—  the  amplitude  or 
grace  of  the  figures,  the  harmony  of  the  lines,  the  rhyth- 
mic order  of  the  composition.  And  since  we  are  here  by 
ourselves,  and  I can  depend  upon  your  discretion,  I will 
confide  to  you,  as  a great  secret,  that  I much  prefer  the 
Virtues  of  our  Stanza  to  the  famous  Sibyls  of  the  Pace, 
which  they  resemble  in  so  many  respects,  while  far  sur- 
passing them  in  simplicity  and  charm. 

“ The  question  is  very  often  asked  why  Raffaello,  on 
this  fourth  wall  of  the  Segnatura,  interrupted  the  series 
of  his  great  historic  compositions  and  did  not  give  us  that 
assembly  of  legislators  which  would  have  been  the  appro- 
priate sequence  to  the  theologians,  philosophers,  and  poets 
of  the  other  walls.  The  clever  explanation  has  been 
offered  that  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  represent 
in  a picture  an  assembly  of  jurists  without  their  having 
an  air  of  being  very  much  bored  and  very  impatient  to 


212 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


have  dinner  announced!  I think,  however,  the  creator  óf 
the  Disputa  and  the  School  of  Athens  might  have  been  able 
to  get  over  this  difficulty  ! The  real  explanation  you  will 
find,  it  seems  to  me,  if  you  remember  that  we  are  here  in 
the  Camera  Segnatura,  a high  court-room,  and  that  card- 
inal virtues  traditionally  belong  in  such  a place.  In  the 
Cambio  they  are  depicted  on  the  wall  directly  opposite  the 
judges’  seat;  here,  where  the  members  of  the  tribunal 
would  be  seated  parallel  to  the  two  long  sides  of  the 
Stanza,  the  usual  allegorical  figures  have  the  place  of 
honour  where  most  in  sight,  that  is  to  say,  immediately 
under  the  great  medallion  of  Justice.  For  the  historic 
composition,  there  remained,  therefore,  only  the  narrow, 
lower  compartments  near  the  window;  and  here  Raffaello 
represents  the  two  great  codes  of  Roman  Raw  and  of 
Canon  Law,  which  form  the  foundations  of  the  social 
order  of  Europe.  He  treated  in  the  style  of  an  antique 
bas-relief  the  Emperor  Justinian  delivering  the  Pandects 
to  the  legists  of  his  court;  for  Gregory  IX.  proclaiming 
the  Decretals,  he  followed  the  idea  of  Melozzo  da  Forli’s 
magnificent  painting  now  in  the  picture-gallery  of  the 
Vatican,  and  he  gave  to  that  celebrated  adversary  of  the 
Hohenstaufen  the  face  and  figure  of  Julius  II. 

‘ ‘ Previously  to  this,  upon  the  other  three  walls,  the 
young  Urbinate,  following  so  many  distinguished  exam- 
ples of  the  Quattrocento,  had  taken  pleasure  in  depicting 
various  iconic  figures  and  mingling  among  the  personages 
of  other  times  a number  of  his  own  contemporaries, 
— Bramante,  the  Duke  of  Urbino,  the  young  Federico 
Gonzaga,  Perugino,  and  others, — not  omitting  himself. 


The  Cardinal  Virtues  (Raffaello) 


XnE  0VKDIMVr  ATKJBfìKfi  (K'/RKVErro) 


, cn  ì '.sirice 


, 

( ,nd  the  School  of  AH- 
,,  t tner  this  difficulty  ! The  k.> 
,,.is  to  me,  if  you  remenv 
.•«w  Segnatura,  a high  corn 
■ • : virtues  traditionally  belong 
Cambio  they  are  depicted  on  the  >■ 
ih:cs  seat;  here,  where  the  me 
v.-uVi  be  seated  parallel  to  the 
: :v  , : the  usual  allegorical  ’v 
; i i where  most  in  sight,  th  it 
, iit-  the  great  medallion  of 
..v'Mipo.sitlon,  there  remained.  ther< 
compartments  near  the  w 

. presents  the  two  great  eo.  . c 
non  Law,  which  form  the 
•>rder  of  Europe.  He  treat* 

• ,;r  relief  the  Emperor  Just  it 
to  the  legists  of  his  court  i 
rii  retals,  he  followed  th 
icent  painting  no. 
y j acati,  and  he  gave  to  that 

gure 


.tie  creator  óf 
• e been  able 
.t  on  you  will 

41 

are  here  in 
.•  d that  card- 
place.  In  the 
: opposite  the 

of  the  tribunal 
sides  of  the 
. ■ the  place  of 
ay,  immediately 
1'or  the  historic 
« oily  the  narrow, 
i here  Raffaello 
in  Law  and  of 
r-  of  the  social 
: ■' x of  an  antique 

the  Pandects 
proclaiming 
xr.»>  da-Forli’s 
cilery  of  the 
rsary  of  the 
s XL 

. ee  walls,  the 
.ished  exam- 


ine 


Hohenstaufen  the  face  and 

Previously  to  this,  upon  toe  <>• 
v own:  Urbinate,  following  so  many  < . 

e Quattrocento,  had  taken  p m depicting 

, uic  figures  and  mingling  v.m>  • personages 

;s  a number  of  his  cw  c > temporaries, 
,te,  the  Duke  of  t rbino,  the  young  Federico 
Perugino,  and  others,— not  omitting  himself. 


i affi 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  213 

In  this  fresco  of  the  Decretals , — and  evidently  as  in- 
fluenced by  Melozzo’s  work  representing  Sixtus  IV. 
founding  the  Vatican  Library, — Raffaello  painted  only 
portraits, — only  his  own  contemporaries.  The  future 
Pope,  Leo  X.,  is  manifestly  the  cardinal  at  Julius  II. ’s 
right;  and  the  future  Paul  III.  Farnese  is  the  last  in  the 
group  on  that  side.  Were  it  not  that  the  question  of  date 
confuses  me,  and  that  Giulio  de’  Medici,  who  later  was 
Clement  VII.,  at  this  time  had  not  yet  received  the  purple, 
I should  not  hesitate  thus  to  identify  the  prelate  on  the 
opposite  side  who  supports  the  pluviale  of  Julius  II.  ; for 
he  recalls,  beyond  all  doubt,  the  authentic  portrait  that 
Raffaello  has  left  us  of  Giulio  de’  Medici,  in  the  fam- 
ous picture  of  the  Pitti  ! And  so  the  painter,  in  1511, 
would  have  shown  in  a prophetic  frame,  as  in  a Banquo’s 
mirror,  the  Rovere  on  the  throne,  and  the  three  pontiffs 
who  were  to  come  after  him  ! 

“ However  this  may  be,  all  the  figures  in  this  fresco 
have  a stamp  of  reality  and  fidelity  to  life  which  is  ex- 
tremely remarkable.  It  is  also  surprising  to  what  a de- 
gree certain  of  these  types  are  perpetuated  to  our  own 
time.  The  head  next  to  my  problematic  prelate  has  the 
Napoleonic  masque  strikingly  exact;  and  I have  often 
said  to  our  dear  Commendatore  de  Rossi,  the  famous 
author  of  Roma  sotterranea , that  he  only  needed  to  let  his 
beard  grow  to  be  a very  counterpart  of  the  avvocato  co?i- 
sistoriale,  who  is  receiving  on  his  knees  the  papal  benedic- 
tion. Only  the  figure  of  Julius  himself — strange  to  say, 
at  first  thought  — lacks  relief  and  prestige.  A first  look 
at  the  Decretals  must  be  to  any  one  a disappointment  in 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


2 14 

this  respect.  The  picture  corresponds  very  poorly  to  the 
idea  we  form  of  the  pontefice  terribile , the  fiery-souled 
priest,  who  projected  and  executed  so  many  great  things. 
It  represents  an  old  man,  feeble,  depressed,  almost  sink- 
ing out  of  life. 

“ But  it  was,  in  fact,  at  the  most  critical,  the  most  dis- 
tressed period  of  his  long  life,  that  the  Ligurian  Pope 
posed  here  for  his  artist,  in  the  month  of  July,  1511.  He 
had  just  been  driven  out  of  Bologna,  betra}?ed  by  his 
dearest  nephew,  torn  with  grief  by  the  murder  of  his 
favourite  Alidosi,  humiliated  by  Louis  XII.  and  Max- 
imilian, who  had  decided  on  having  him  deposed  and 
had  called  a council  against  him  at  Pisa.  The  follow- 
ing month  he  fell  ill  ; every  one  expected  his  death,  and 
the  Roman  nobles  went  up  to  the  Capitol  to  proclaim  the 
Republic.  It  is  well  known  how  the  wounded  lion  sud- 
denly rallied,  with  all  his  former  vigour;  how  he  faced 
the  storm,  and  came  out  victorious  in  the  year  1512. 
You  will  find  the  ‘ lion  ’ in  Raffaello’s  two  portraits  of 
him  of  this  same  year  1512,  in  the  adjacent  Stanza.  He 
is  there  in  the  Mass  of  Bolsena,  and,  especially,  in  the 
Expulsio?i  of  Heliodorus. 

“ You  will  not  ask  me  to  go  into  details  as  to  the  Pro- 
mulgation of  the  Pandects  : we  are  in  the  presence  of  a total 
wreck,  and  the  only  thing  to  note  is  this  intention  of  a 
Roman  bas-relief,  of  which  I have  already  spoken.  Still, 
I do  not  sajr  to  you  : Guarda  e passa  ; on  the  contrary,  I 
invite  you  to  ask  yourself,  now  and  here,  a most  disturb- 
ing and  grievous  question,  and  one  which  has  never  yet 
been  frankly  dealt  with.  What  remains  to  us,  in  reality, 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  215 


of  Raffaello’s  work, — of  the  work  of  his  own  hand, — in 
the  Camera  della  Segnatura  ? 

“ Seven  years  after  Santi’ s death,  the  hordes  of  the  Con- 
stable Bourbon  invaded  this  Stanza:  they  destroyed  the 
marquetry  of  Giovanni  da  Verona,  they  broke  the  painted 
glass  of  Guillaume  de  Marsillat,  they  lighted  a fire  here 
to  warm  themselves — in  the  month  of  May  ! — and  it  is  easy 
to  imagine  the  condition  of  the  frescos,  after  a visit  like 
this.  ‘ Who  is  the  presumptuous  and  ignorant  man  who 
has  daubed  these  faces?’1  here  on  this  spot  Titian 
asked  of  Sebastian  del  Piombo,  without  any  idea  that  he 
was  speaking  to  the  ‘restorer’  in  person.  Alas!  these 
walls  have  known,  since  then,  more  than  one  imbrattatore , 
and  of  less  conscience  than  Fra  Sebastiano.  I do  not 
doubt  the  sincerity  of  Carlo  Maratta,  when  he  speaks  of 
his  worship  of  Raffaello;  but  my  heart  is  heavy  whenever 
I re-read  the  Memorie  of  his  pupil  Urbani  concerning  the 
risarcimenti  which  his  master  executed  in  the  Stanza,  and 
concerning  the  famous  ‘Greek  wine’  with  which  such 
marvels  of  cleaning  were  wrought.  In  looking  over 
Goethe’s  Italienische  Reise  not  long  since,  I was  struck  with 
his  lamentations  over  the  ‘filthy’  condition  of  the  paint- 
ings of  our  Camera.  They  have  no  such  aspect  now  ; hence 
they  have  been  again  ‘ restored  ’ since  Goethe’s  time, — 
since  1787,  probably  at  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  and  this  time  quite  privately,  quite  as  a family 
affair,  since  there  is  no  official  record  on  the  subject! 

1 “ Gli  domandò  chi  era  stato  quel  presuntuoso  ed  ignorante  chi 
havera  imbrattati  quei  volti.” — L,od.  Dolce,  Dialogo  della  Pittura , 
1557- 


2i6  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


“ Do  not  therefore  wonder  if  the  Diogenes  of  the  Am- 
brosian cartoon,  or  the  Homer  in  the  drawing  at  Wind- 
sor Castle,  defy  all  comparison  with  the  Segnatura  as  we 
see  it;  for  it  is  only  across  risarcimenti  and  imbrattature 
repeated  from  century  to  century,  that  the  genius  of  the 
divine  Santi  appears  to  us  in  this  place:  Stai  magni 
Numinis  umbra  ! 

“ Nevertheless,  there  yet  remains  enough  of  his  draw- 
ing and  his  composition  to  give  us  a glimpse  of  the  ideal 
which  the  loftiest  minds  of  the  Renaissance  believed  them- 
selves to  be  pursuing,  at  that  memorable  epoch, — an  ideal 
which  these  frescos  sought  to  glorify, — the  imposing  ideal 
of  something  like  a universal  harmony,  embracing  the 
classic  world  and  the  Catholic  world,  religion  and  philo- 
sophy, the  Church  and  the  State,  the  devout  life  and  the 
life  of  pleasure!  It  was  a dream,  I know;  and  the  awak- 
ing that  followed  was  fearful  ; even,  it  may  have  been  a 
great  and  culpable  error  (many  good  men  so  regard  it  at 
the  present  day)  ; none  the  less,  the  dream  was  sublime, 
and  the  error  was  a very  generous  one:  felix  culpa!  And 
when  I think  that  at  this  very  moment,  in  these  same 
years  1509-11,  when  Raffaello  was  at  work  upon  this  en- 
chanting cycle  of  the  Segnatura,  another  man  of  genius, 
a very  Titan,  hanging  from  a vault  not  far  from  these 
‘ Upper  Rooms,’  was  depicting  there  the  Creation  of 
Man,  and  making  Sibyls  and  Prophets  speak!  Yes, 
truly,  it  was  a great  epoch,  the  epoch  of  the  pontefice 
terribile. 

“ But  how  long  we  have  been  talking!  It  is  time  to 
stop.  You  will  make  me  again  miss  the  service  in  the 


Temperanti  a : Detail  ok  the  Cardinal  Virtues 


■ 

Renaissance 

■ones  of  the  Am- 

ia awing  at  Wind- 

1 ..-.rie,  defy  all  compari  •• 1 

i i ( Segnatura  as  we 

>r  it  is  only  au  • • 

aid  imbrattature 

a'  ' 

te 

C 

h? 

-,  century  to  ce a* 

• genius  of  the 

it  i appears  to 

Stai  magni 

& 

H-t 

• Ji-.  umbra! 

<S  • 

■\  rtheless,  tfe  ; ’ 

li  of  his  draw- 

g 

■ ai  his  composition  -H  ?. 

e of  the  ideal 

. ...  i.  tini  loftiest  minds  • 

elieved  them- 

> 

o 

selves  to  be  pursuing,  at  - ; 

each, — an  ideal 

w 

which  these  frescos  -s<  >u  g h» 

imposing  ideal 

>-3 

of  something  like  a ■ .ì  ^ 

mbracing  the 

C 

classic  world  and  th* 

u and  philo- 

*> 

sophy,  the  Church  and  th* 

•et  life  and  the 

K-:  • 

w 

life  of  pleasure!  It  wa»  > i 

ind  the  awak- 

ing  that  followed  was 

.y  have  been  a 

1 5 

great  and  culpable  error  • 

so  regard  it  at 

S 

>> 

the  present  day):  none  fci  • i 

- . was  sublime, 

m 

1 W 

and  the  error  was  a ven  ti-srs 

v culpa!  And 

i S 

when  I think  that  at  tk» 

m these  same 

w 

►■*- 

years  1509-11,  when  dan  x 

k upon  this  en- 

chanting  cycle  of  the  Sfsytr.i 

■ man  of  genius, 

a very  Titan,  hanging  fro* 

’ far  from  these 

; 

r 

f 

* Upper  Rooms,’  was  deyt< 

:he  Creation  of 

Man,  and  making  Sibyl» 

speak!  Yes, 

<\  ' 

truly,  it  was  a great  i-poei 

of  the  pontefice 

15 

terribile. 

“ But  how  long  we  ha 

1 1 is  time  to 

' 

stop.  You  will  make  me 

, , 1-  Uie  service  in  the 

! 


- - 1 


t 


\ 


In  the  Camera  della  Segnatura  217 


Capella  del  Coro.  Adieu,  my  dear  sir,  or,  rather,  au 
revoir  ! Come  often  to  our  Segnatura,  and  try  to  look  at 
these  paintings  with  the  eyes  of  a man  of  the  Cinquecento. 
When  you  come  here,  be  a little  doubtful  of  the  current 
ideas  of  our  day-— -and,  above  all,  beware  of  innovators!  ” 


CHAPTER  XIII 


THE  WORED’S  GAME  (1509-1512) 

I 

“ The  Pope  is  determined  to  be  lord  and  master  of  the 
world’s  game,”  wrote  Domenico  Trevisano,  the  Venetian 
ambassador,  referring  to  Julius  II.,  in  his  report  to  the 
Signory  dated  April  1,  1510. 1 

Let  us  look  on  a little  at  this  game,  with  its  stratagems 
and  surprises.  The  strange  vicissitudes  of  the  League  of 
Cambrai  may  help  us,  in  the  end,  to  understand  better 
some  one  of  Raffaello’s  Stanze  in  the  Vatican  Palace,  or 
some  painting  of  Michelangelo  in  the  Sistine  Chapel. 

The  League,  signed  at  Cambrai,  Dec.  10,  1508,  by  the 
Pope  and  the  sovereigns  of  France,  Austria,  and  Spain — 
to  which  also  the  Italian  dukes  of  Ferrara  and  Urbino  and 
the  marquis  of  Mantua'2  immediately  gave  their  adherence 
—had  no  less  aim  than  the  complete  dismemberment  of 
the  Republic  of  the  lagoons:  this  was  the  reply  of  Julius 
II.  to  the  Signory’ s obstinate  refusal  to  restore  to  the 
Holy  See  the  important  cities  of  Romagna, — Ravenna, 
Faenza,  Cervi,  Rimini, — which  the  Republic  very  im- 

1 II  papa  vuol  essere  il  signore  e maestro  del  guìoco  del  mondo. — 
Alberi,  Relazione,  voi.  iii.,  p.  33. 

■ Although  Julius  li.  was  the  real  author  of  the  League,  he  did 
uot  formally  join  it  uutil  March  23,  1509. 

218 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-1512)  219 

properly  retained.  “ I shall  one  day  reduce  your  Venice 
to  its  original  condition  of  a little  fishing  hamlet,”  said 
the  Ligurian  Pope  to  the  Venetian  envoy  Pisani;  and  the 
haughty  patrician  replied  without  hesitation:  “ And  we, 
Holy  Father,  if  you  are  not  more  reasonable,  shall  reduce 
you  to  the  condition  of  a village  priest.”  Language  like 
this  shows  how  hot  the  quarrel  had  become.  In  the  bull 
of  excommunication  which  was  soon  after  launched  (April 
27,  1509)  against  the  Venetians,  they  are  accused  of  unit- 
ing the  craftiness  of  the  wolf  to  the  ferocity  of  the  lion, 
and  of  flaying  the  sheep  under  pretence  of  shearing  it. 

One  battle  gained  by  the  French,  in  the  plain  of  Agna- 
dello  (May  14,  1509)  sufficed  to  beat  down  the  haughty 
Republic,  to  deprive  her  at  one  blow  of  all  her  conquests 
on  the  mainland  and  leave  her  nothing  but  her  canals 
and  her  lagoons.  “ Then  was  defeated,”  writes  the  chron- 
icler, Saint-Gelais,  “a  nation  of  men,  sagacious,  power- 
ful and  rich,  who  had  never  been  conquered  before  since 
Attila,  king  of  the  Huns.”  In  this  extreme  distress, 
the  Signory  took  the  wise  resolve  of  abandoning  to  the 
coalition  without  a struggle  the  cities  of  Romagna  and 
Apulia,  and  seeking  only  the  restitution  of  so  much  of 
the  mainland  as  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  Louis  XII. 
and  the  Emperor  Maximilian.  The  Republic  also  desired 
to  conciliate,  at  any  price,  the  principal  author  of  her 
woes:  Sanabit  qui  percussit  ! the  Signory  wrote  to  Julius 
II.,  who  was  readily  touched  by  this  appeal.  The  posses- 
sion of  Romagna  once  secured  to  him,  the  Rovere  had,  in 
fact,  no  interest  in  the  destruction  of  the  famous  old  State; 
and  many  considerations  made  it  advisable  for  him  to 


220 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


preserve  to  Italy  her  great  bulwark  upon  the  Adriatic. 
“If  your  country  were  not  there,  we  should  have  to  create 
it,”  he  said,  some  months  later,  to  Domenico  Trevisano. 
He  began  to  withdraw  slowly  from  a league  which  had 
become  burdensome,  and  carried  on  long  negotiations 
with  the  Republic  in  respect  to  taking  off  the  interdict 
which  rested  upon  Venice.  It  was  in  vain  that  the 
French  cardinals  resident  in  Rome  insisted  that  this  in- 
terdict had  been  expressly  stipulated  for  in  the  League  of 
Cambrai,  and  that  now  to  absolve  the  Republic  would  be 
a very  severe  wound  to  the  French  King,  would  be  a 
knife-thrust  in  his  heart  {dare  cotello  nel  petto).  But 
Julius  II.,  on  his  side,  used  language  even  stronger: 
“These  Frenchmen  are  always  wanting  to  make  the 
Pope  their  King’s  chaplain,”  is  one  of  the  characteristic 
sayings  of  the  Rovere,  mentioned  in  Venetian  docu- 
ments.1 Observe  how  certain  “winged  words”  which 
have  had  so  great  a vogue  in  our  time — these  aphorisms 
concerning  a state  that  “ would  have  to  be  invented  if  it 
did  not  already  exist,”  concerning  a “ Pope-Chaplain,” 
and  concerning  “a  knjfe-thrust  in  the  heart” — are  of 
very  ancient  date — the  period  of  Julius  II.  ! 

On  the  24th  of  February,  1510,  Rome  enjoyed  the  ex- 
traordinary and  imposing  spectacle  of  a Canossa  in  the 
midst  of  the  Renaissance.  On  the  steps  of  the  old  Vati- 
can Basilica,  now  half  destroyed  by  Bramante,  in  front  of 
Filarete’s  bronze  doors,  five  envoys  of  the  Signory,  all 
clad  in  scarlet,  all  bearers  of  names  most  illustrious  in 

1 Questi  Francesi  voleno  pur  eh'  io  sia  capellano  del  suo  re. 
—Despatch  of  Girolamo  Donato,  June  19,  1510. 


221 


The  Word’s  Game  (1509-15 12) 

the  Golden  Book,  such  names  as  Mocenigo  and  Cappello, 
knelt  and  begged  of  the  Pope  pardon  for  the  Republic  of 
Saint  Mark.  Julius  II.,  seated  on  the  pontifical  throne, 
held  in  his  hand  a golden  wand;  each  of  the  twelve  card- 
inals who  attended  him  held  also  a wand.  The  Miserere 
was  sung,  and  at  each  verse  of  the  psalm  the  pontiff  and 
the  cardinals  touched  lightly  with  these  wands  the 
shoulder  of  each  one  of  these  penitents.  This  ceremony 
being  ended,  an  immense  crowd,  with  frantic  acclamations 
of  joy,  accompanied  the  Venetian  envoys  as  they  left  the 
Vatican. 

It  must  be  owned  that  the  Pope’s  conduct  in  all  this 
affair  of  the  absolution  was  characterised  by  a supreme  in- 
difference towards  his  worthy  allies  of  Cambrai;  but  the 
Venetians  had  acted  in  like  manner  in  1508,  abandoning 
their  ally,  Louis  XII.,  and  concluding  a three-3rears’ 
truce  with  his  adversary,  the  Emperor  Maximilian;  also, 
Maximilian,  in  turn,  had  had  no  scruples,  this  truce  be- 
ing but  just  signed,  at  entering  the  great  coalition  of  the 
Powers  against  the  Republic  of  Saint  Mark.  This  was 
“the  world’s  game,”  at  that  day,  the  policy  constantly 
practised  in  the  famous  Cinquecento,  and  I should  not  ven- 
ture to  affirm  that  it  has  entirely  fallen  into  desuetude 
in  our  own  age  of  progress.  Accordingly  Ferdinand  the 
Catholic  endured  this  affront  without  too  great  an  outcry, 
like  a circumspect  person,  and  one  who  had  already  re- 
ceived his  promised  reward,  namely,  the  coveted  towns 
in  Apulia.  The  Emperor  complained  loudly,  it  is  true, 
and,  as  usual,  began  by  struggling  violently,  but,  as 
usual,  ended  by  parading  his  poverty,  begging  money 


222 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


from  everybody, — even  from  the  Pope  himself  !— and  wast- 
ing his  time  in  fruitless  agitation.  Quite  different  was  it 
with  the  Most  Christian  King,  who  had  the  right  to  de- 
clare himself  unworthily  treated  by  the  man  whom  he  had 
loaded  with  benefits,  to  whom,  in  1506/  he  had  secured 
Bologna,  and  just  now  the  cities  of  Romagna.  The 
promoter  of  the  Teague  of  Cambrai,  now  making  terms 
with  the  Doge,  outside  and  to  the  detriment  of  France,- — 
the  former  confidant  and  friend  of  the  Valois  Kings,  who 
from  early  date  (as  long  ago  as  the  reign  of  Alexander 
VI.)  had  done  his  utmost  to  drag  the  French  into  Italian 
affairs,  now  talking  of  “ sending  the  French  back  across 
the  Alps,” — verily,  here  was  cause  for  the  successor  of 
Charles  VIII.  to  be  profoundly  astonished!  Nor,  indeed, 
was  this  all.  Ferrara  was,  at  that  time,  regarded  as  an 
outpost  and  stronghold  of  France  in  the  peninsula;  and 
its  Duke,  the  brave  and  cruel  Alfonso  d’  Este,  had  al- 
ways been  the  liege-man  of  Rouis  XII.,  his  most  constant 
and  devoted  ally.  Alfonso  had  given  his  adhesion  to  the 
Reague  from  its  very  beginning  and  continued  to  fight 
for  it  against  the  Venetians.  Alfonso’s  wife,  the  famous 
and  too  calumniated  Tucrezia  Borgia,  charmed  the  Gallic 

1 In  1506,  Louis  XII.  was  at  once  the  ally  of  the  Pope  and  of 
Bentivoglio,  and  had  even  guaranteed  to  the  latter  the  possession 
of  his  territory.  Hearing  that  Julius  II.  was  marching  upon 
Bologna,  the  French  King  at  first  would  not  believe  it:  “Cer- 
tainly the  Pope  must  have  had  too  much  wine  ! ” In  the  end, 
however,  he  resigned  himself,  and  even  sent  eight  thousand  men 
to  the  Rovere,  writing  him  also  “to  act  rapidly” — (faire  vite)\ 
Julius  II.  exhibited  to  Macchiavelli  the  royal  letter. — Macchiavelli, 
Seconde  legation  à la  cour  de  Rome.  (Letter  from  Civita-Castellane, 
Aug.  28,  1506.) 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-1512)  223 

warriors  by  her  graces  and  her  “ virtues  ” ; she  was  pro- 
claimed “ the  pearl  of  the  world  ” by  Bayard,  the  knight 
sans peur  et  sans  reproche.  “ Indeed  I may  assert,”  writes 
the  Loyal  Serviteur,  11  that  neither  in  her  time  nor  long 
before,  has  lived  a more  triumphant  princess,  for  she  was 
beautiful,  good,  gentle,  and  courteous  to  all.”  But,  one 
day,  the  Pope  proceeded  to  summon  abruptly  Duke  Al- 
fonso, “ as  vassal  of  the  Holy  See,”  to  cease  all  hostility 
against  the  Signory  under  canonical  penalties  the  most 
severe;  and  later  executed  the  threat  by  launching 
against  the  Duke  (August  9,  1510)  a furious  excommuni- 
cation which  declared  him  despoiled  of  his  States,  of  his 
titles,  honours,  and  rights;  and  pronounced  Ferrara  and 
its  territory  restored  to  the  Patrimony  of  the  Church. 
The  excommunication  extended  to  11  all  the  Duke’s  part- 
isans,” and  thus  struck  very  close  to  the  Most  Christian 
King  himself.  This  was  too  much,  and  Douis  XII.  mani- 
fested no  further  consideration  for  the  ungrateful  and 
treacherous  priest,  “ the  peasant’s  son,  who  should  be 
driven  with  a rod!”  The  King  convoked  at  Tours 
(Sept.  15,  1510)  “ the  bishops,  prelates,  doctors,  and  other 
learned  men  of  the  kingdom”;  and  this  synod  declared 
that  the  King  could,  with  a good  conscience,  “ make  war 
upon  the  Holy  Father , in  his  own  defence  and  in  the  de- 
fence of  his  allies.”  There  was  talk,  even,  of  convoking 
a general  council  “ to  reform  the  Church,  in  its  head  and 
in  its  members.  ’ ’ 

The  Rovere  was  not  overmuch  afraid  of  any  spiritual 
weapons  which  might  be  forged  against  him  in  Touraine; 
and  he  continued  the  advance  of  his  troops  into  the  duchy 


224  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


of  Ferrara.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  what  must  be 
done:  he  proposed  to  get  rid  of  these  Frenchmen  and 
Germans  (not,  however,  having  the  courage  to  include 
the  Spaniards  also)  who  now  for  twenty  years  had  been 
ravaging  the  luckless  peninsula  : Fuori  i barbari  ! became 
henceforth  his  great  war-cry.  This  cry  made  more  than 
one  Italian  heart  leap;  and  the  humanists  especially 
hailed  with  enthusiasm  the  second  Julius  and  his  bold 
alea  jada.  The  game,  however,  was  most  perilous;  and 
cool  observers,  men  habituated  to  affairs  of  state,  and  de- 
moralised by  them,  gravely  shook  their  heads.  “ I do 
not  understand  this  Pope,”  wrote  Francesco  Vittori  to 
Macchiavelli  on  the  3rd  of  August,  1510;  “ how  is  it  pos- 
sible that  he  should  seek  a war  with  France,  having  no 
other  ally  than  the  Venetians?”  1 But  the  Pope  had  a 
very  respectable  army  and  a well-filled  treasury.  Nor 
were  the  Venetians  still  overwhelmed  with  their  defeat 
at  Agnadello;  they  had  recovered  courage,  reorganised 
their  fleet  and  army,  recaptured  several  places  on  the 
mainland,  defeated  the  Hmperor  Maximilian’s  generals, 
and  made  prisoner  Francesco  Gonzaga,  Marquis  of  Man- 
tua, one  of  the  members  of  the  Teague.  Finally, — and 
most  important  of  all, — Julius  II.  had  had  the  good  luck 
to  outwit  Louis  XII.  in  a bargain  with  the  Swiss  (March 
4th),  and  to  secure  their  assistance  for  five  years.2  Now 

1 Fragment  of  an  unpublished  letter  quoted  by  Nitti,  Macchiavelli 
nella  vita  e nella  dottrina , voi.  i.,  p.  399. 

2 It  was  at  this  time  that  Julius  II.  took  into  service,  for  himself 
and  his  successors,  a corps  of  two  hundred  men  as  guards  of  the 
apostolic  palace  and  the  Pope’s  person, — the  Swiss  Guard  that  we 
see  to-day, — whose  uniform  at  that  time  consisted  of  the  old 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-1512)  225 

the  victors  at  Granson  and  Morat  were  reputed  at  this 
epoch  the  most  valiant  soldiers  in  Europe.  Macchiavelli 
believed  them  capable  of  conquering  the  world  ; and  the 
Pope  placed  great  reliance  upon  these  sons  of  Tell. 

The  plan  of  the  campaign  was  well  organised.  While 
the  Swiss  were  to  fall  upon  the  French  in  the  rear  in 
the  Milanese,  a Venetian  fleet  would  attack  them  in  flank 
at  Genoa,  and  the  pontifical  army  would  co-operate  with 
the  land  force  of  the  Doge  across  the  territory  of  Ferrara. 
On  the  17th  of  August,  1510,  Julius  II.  set  out  from  Rome 
to  go  to  the  scene  of  military  operations:  “ Forsaking  S. 
Peter’s  chair,” — as  says  the  French  chronicler, — “ to  as- 
sume the  title  of  Mars,  god  of  battles,  to  display  in  camps 
the  triple  crown,  to  sleep  under  a tent,  and  God  knows 
how  fine  to  see  were  his  mitres,  crosses,  and  croziers 
flying  about  in  the  open  country.” 

11 

Bologna  became  the  headquarters  of  Julius  II.  in  this 
memorable  campaign.  He  made  his  entry  into  the  city 
on  the  22nd  of  September,  and  reviewed  the  troops  which 

Swiss  doublet  and  hose,  with  the  black  velvet  cap.  The  colours 
have  not  always  been  black,  red,  and  yellow  ; in  Raffaello’s  Alass 
of  Bolsena , the  costume  of  the  Swiss  Guards  seems  to  be  green 
and  grey  (white?)  combined  with  red  and  yellow  (gold?).  The 
descriptions  of  Leo  X.’s  famous  possesso  in  1513  say  that  the  Swiss 
Guard  wore  a costume  striped  with  white  and  red.  Lastly,  in  the 
report  of  the  Venetian  orators  of  1523  (Alberi,  voi.  iii. , p.  43),  I read  : 
La  guardia  degli  Svizzeri  tutti  vestiti  di  una  livrea  bianca , verde, 
e gialla.  May  (de  Romain-Motier),  Histoire  militaire  de  la  Suisse 
(Lausanne,  1788,  voi.  viii.,  pp.  525-28),  has  but  little  information 
on  this  subject  and  says  only  : “The  uniform  is  yellow,  slashed 
with  red  and  blue.” 

15 


226 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


were  on  their  way  to  Modena  under  the  command  of 
Francesco  Maria  della  Rovere,  then  twenty-one  years  of 
age.  Francesco  Maria  was  the  nephew  of  the  Pope,  and 
also  the  nephew  (on  the  mother’s  side)  of  Guidubaldo, 
the  last  of  the  Montefeltri,  whom  he  had  succeeded  in 
1508  in  the  dukedom  of  Urbino;  and  it  is  generally  ad- 
mitted that  Raffaello  has  represented  him,  in  the  School 
of  Athens , in  the  figure  wearing  a white  cloak  at  the  left, 
above  the  group  around  Pythagoras — a splendid  figure,  of 
ideal  beauty.1  This  handsome  youth,  with  face  so  attract- 
ive and  so  ingenuous,  was  perfectly  able,  however,  on  oc- 
casion to  assassinate  his  man;  it  is  this  same  Francesco 
Maria  also,  who,  as  general  of  the  Holy  League,  in  1527, 
allowed  Charles  of  Bourbon  to  work  his  will,  and — that 
he  might  avenge  himself  upon  the  Medici  who  had  plun- 
dered him — looked  on  with  folded  arms  at  the  infamous 
sack  of  Rome.  In  this  year  1510,  however,  the  Pope’s 
nephew  was  but  nominally  the  leader  of  the  army  of  the 
Holy  See;  the  true  leader,  who  directed  all  the  operations, 
the  “ Mars,  god  of  battles,”  was  that  aged  valetudinarian 
who  was  seen,  in  procession,  passing  through  the  streets 
of  Bologna  preceded  by  the  Blessed  Sacrament  and  fol- 
lowed by  fourteen  cardinals. 

'Von  Reumont  ( Geschichte  der  Stadt  Rom,  voi.  iii.,  2,  p.  848), 
throws  doubt,  however,  upon  this  tradition,  which  is  not  men- 
tioned by  Vasari.  “ Nothing  can  less  resemble  the  authentic  port- 
rait of  Francesco  Maria  by  Titian,  which  is  in  the  Uffizi  in  Florence 
(Hall  of  the  Venetians,  A).  The  great  difference  of  age  will  not 
account  for  the  radical  divergence  in  face  and  figure.  There  is 
nothing  in  common  between  the  blond  and  slender  young  man  of 
the  School  of  Athens,  and  the  dark,  thick-set  personage  of  harsh, 
strong  features  in  the  Venetian  picture.” 


n.e  and  the  Renaissance 

i y to  Modena  under  the  command  of 
iella  Rovere,  then  twenty-one  years  of 
"•'.aria  was  the  nephew  of  the  Pope,  and 
■oil  the  mother's  of  Guidubaldo, 

Monte  let  tri,  whom  : nad  succeeded  in 

ikedom  of  Urbino;  ....  generally  ad - 

ielk>  has  represe  n,  in  th & School 

!■’  at  the  left,  ■ 

around  Pytbagoi  neudid  figure,  of 

fhishandsom.  ; face  so  attract- 

: v'enuous,  was  perù.  , however,  on  oc- 

: asinate  his  t;  ime  Francesco 


who,  as  general  of  league,  in  1527, 

rles  of  Bourbon  ; ■ will,  and — that 

10  had  plun- 

■ooked  on  with  if  f;  the  infamous 

In  ibi»  the  Pope’s 

but  nominally  ttw  .1-  army  of  the 

true  leach  •-  operations, 

l of  battles  valetudinarian 

' ii  procession  0 ■ 4, h the  streets 

-di  ' b 1.  . neut  and  fol- 

i our  teen  cardinals. 

iiOOUt  {Gcsc/,!  . b'-r  S'/,..  1-,  voi.  iii.,  2,  p.  848), 

■ 1 1 1 li  is  Dot  men- 

mtheutic  port- 
i ’Tizi  in  Florence 


nee  of  age  will  not 
- ■ 1,  i Ja.-i  ami  figure.  There  is 

. rtn.r-.-ji  !..  v. . is  mi  nn.i  slender  young  man  of 
ti:,-  < f Ath,'-n,  t h«  dark,  thick-set  personage  of  harsh, 

strong  features  in  the  Venetian  picture." 

Aj  HO  JIATHCl  : 3*370#  /.19LAÌA  OOSHOZAM# 


) 

il 


s 


I 

fi 


1, 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-1512)  227 


Mars,  in  these  circumstances  so  extraordinary,  was  per- 
haps excusable  for  forgetting  his  obligations  towards 
Apollo;  there  was,  however,  some  one  to  remind  him  of 
them  with  much  insistence.  The  Pope  had  left  Rome 
without  furnishing  Michelangelo  with  money,  or  making 
any  arrangements  for  the  painter’s  welfare;  and  the  lat- 
ter, always  suspicious  and  surly,  had  nothing  better  to  do 
than  to  follow  up  the  Pope  to  his  very  camp,  and  claim 
fulfilment  of  the  bargain  that  had  been  made.  The  bio- 
graphers of  Buonarroti  redouble,  at  this  point,  their 
recriminations  against  the  Rovere,  against  his  niggard- 
liness and  unpardonable  conduct  towards  the  man  of 
genius.  But  I confess  myself  inclined,  rather,  to  admire 
Julius  II.  greatly  for  having,  at  such  a moment,  and  in 
the  midst  of  so  many  cares,  deigned  to  listen  to  the  griev- 
ances of  his  crabbed  painter.  He  satisfied  Buonarroti’s 
demands,  and  used  encouraging  words  to  him,  as  we 
learn  from  a letter  which  the  painter  wrote  to  his  father 
on  returning  from  Bologna.1  It  is  a curious  fact  that  the 
letters  of  Michelangelo  during  the  five  years  passed  under 
the  Sistine  vault  are  always  sad  and  morose;  there  are 
only  griefs  and  complaints;  not  a sign  of  contentment,  nor 
even  of  love  for  his  work.  No  hope  of  fame,  no  prospect 
of  better  days,  comes  to  clear  the  sombre,  cloud-laden  sky 
with  the  single  exception  of  this  letter,  written  on  his  re- 
turn from  Bologna.  This  shows  an  expectation  of  suc- 
cess, and  it  expresses  a hope  for  the  future;  there  even  is 

1 Letters  of  Michelangelo , ed.  Milanesi  p.  33.  The  letter  is  un- 
dated, but  the  one  following  which  is  closely  connected  with  it 
(p.  34),  bears  date  of  Oct.  11,  1510. 


228  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


\\  ! 

,1 

a word  of  sympathy,  I might  almost  say  of  tenderness,  for 
the  Rovere: 

“ Dear  Father: — I have  been  to  talk  with  the  Pope 
. . . and  I returned  here  Wednesday  morning.  He 

caused  me  to  be  paid  by  the  Camera  four  hundred  gold 
ducats.  . . . Pray  God  that  my  work  do  me  honour, 

and  that  I may  satisfy  the  Pope;  for  if  I satisfy  him  I 
hope  that  some  good  will  come  to  us  from  this.  Pray 
God  for  him  also.  . . 

The  Pope,  at  this  moment,  had,  indeed,  great  need  of 
being  prayed  for,  since  he  had  fallen  seriously  ill  in  the 
early  part  of  October,  and,  moreover,  was  in  danger  of 
being  made  prisoner.  The  French  Maréchal  Chaumont, 
governor  of  the  Milanese,  had  abruptly  abandoned  his 
position  before  Modena,  and  was  advancing  upon  Bologna, 
which,  at  this  moment,  was  entirely  undefended;  on  the 
18th  of  October,  Chaumont  was  but  three  leagues  distant 
from  the  city.  “ The}'  shall  not  have  me  alive,”  cried 
the  terrible  pontiff,  writhing  upon  his  bed  of  pain;  “ they 
shall  not  have  me  alive  ; I will  take  poison  first  !"  1 From 
his  bed,  however,  he  managed  to  deceive  the  French  gen- 
eral by  dilatory  negotiations,  till  the  arrival  of  succour; 
and  it  was  Chaumont  who  died  soon  after  of  vexation  at 
having  been  outwitted  by  a moribund  old  man;  of  re- 
morse, also — a characteristic  trait  of  the  time — for  having 
borne  arms  against  the  vicar  of  Christ:  and  he  begged  for 
absolution  from  the  Pope  before  he  expired.  J ulius  II. 

1 Despatch  of  the  prothonotary  Lippomano,  of  Oct.  20,  1510,  ap. 
Sanuto,  voi.  xi.,  p.  268.  (Moritz  Brosch,  Papst  Julius  II.,  p.  351, 
note  34.) 


\ 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-1512)  229 

recovered  his  health  after  two  months  (December,  1510), 
furious  at  having  lost  precious  time,  furious  against  the 
Swiss,  who  had  played  him  false  in  the  Milanese,  and 
against  the  Venetians,  who  had  failed  in  the  attack  on 
Genoa,  furious  especially  against  the  Duke  of  Urbino, 
who  had  not  succeeded  in  taking  the  fortress  of  Miran- 
dola, considered  the  key  to  the  duchy  of  Ferrara,  and 
valiantly  defended  by  the  Signora  Francesca  Trivulzio, 
widow  of  Count  Luigi,  of  the  great  family,  of  Pico  della 
Mirandola.  Julius  II.  could  bear  it  no  longer;  and  on 
the  second  day  of  the  year  1511  he  set  out  to  join  the 
besieging  army.  Again  he  narrowly  escaped  falling 
into  the  enemy's  hands.  The  Chevalier  Bayard  and  the 
Duke  of  Ferrara  had  prepared  an  ambush  for  him  on  the 
road  beyond  the  castle  San  Felice,  where  he  had  spent  a 
night;  and  he  was  just  able  to  fall  back  and  take  refuge 
in  the  castle.  “Quickly  and  unassisted,”  relates  the 
Loyal  Servitezir,  ‘ ‘ he  got  out  of  his  litter,  and  himself 
aided  in  raising  the  drawbridge;  which  was  the  deed  of  a 
wise  man,  for  had  he  waited  but  long  enough  to  say  a 
paternoster,  he  would  have  been  crunched  ( croqué ).”  The 
knight  sans  peur  et  sans  reproche  was  ‘ ‘ much  depressed  at 
having  missed  the  Pope.” 

It  was  now  the  depth  of  winter  and  a winter  excep- 
tionally severe;  the  horses  plunged  breast-high  through 
snow;  and  to  remain  in  the  trenches  before  Mirandola 
was  a real  hardship,  even  to  the  stoutest  soldiers.  Julius 
II.,  scarcely  recovered  from  his  recent  severe  illness,  took 
no  account  of  this  and  remained  for  hours  under  the  in- 
clement sky,  exposed  to  high  winds,  and  covered  with  the 


230  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


falling  snow.  In  intrepidity  under  fire  — many  balls 
penetrated  the  hovel  which  served  him  as  a dwelling- 
place,  and  killed  men  at  his  side  1 — and  in  endurance  of 
fatigues  and  hardships,  the  Pope  was  not  inferior  to  the 
most  rugged  of  his  veterans;  and,  unhappily,  he  sur- 
passed them  in  big  oaths  and  rough  speech.2  He  had  let 
his  beard  grow,  since  his  illness  at  Bologna,  which  gave 
him  an  unusual,  almost  savage  appearance, — cum  la 
barba , che  pare  un  orso, — wrote  the  envoy  Antonio  Gat- 
tico,  to  his  lord  of  Mantua;  and  the  heavy  garments  in 
which  he  wrapped  himself  to  resist  the  cold  added  still 
further  to  the  extraordinary  character  of  his  aspect.  A 
very  curious  picture  which  I have  seen  in  the  Bruschi 
palace  at  Corneto  — the  work  of  a very  poor  artist,  but 
manifestly  drawn  from  life — -represents  the  great  Rovere 
at  this  historic  moment.  In  his  attire  there  is  nothing 
which  reveals  the  pontiff  or  even  the  priest:  a huge  furred 
and  wadded  overcoat  envelops  the  whole  figure  up  to 
the  chin;  on  the  head,  like  a helmet,  is  a monstrous 
hood  of  thick  grey  woollen,  a cuffiotto , as  the  Italians  of 
to-day  would  call  it.  The  beard  is  still  short  and  bris- 
tling, the  expression  of  the  face  hard  and  ignoble, — not 
much  resembling  the  portraits  of  Julius  II.  made  on 

’Julius  II.  offered  one  of  these  cannon-balls  to  the  Santa  Casa 
at  Loretto,  where  it  may  still  be  seen,  hanging  by  a chain  from  the 
ceiling. 

2 A specimen  of  this  untranslatable  language:  “ La  Santità 

Sua.  . . . cum  dir  che  'l  Duca  da  Urbino  è un  figalillo,  e 

che  ' l voi  che  ritorna  indretto  al  bordello.''  Despatch  of  Antonio 
Gattico,  Mantuan  envoy,  of  Jan.  3,  1511. — Luzio,  Federico  Gon- 
zaga, ostaggio,  p.  569. 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-1512)  231 


divers  occasions  by  Raffaello!  But,  looked  at  closely,  this 
head  in  the  Corneto  picture  has  the  effect  of  being  a good 
likeness;  it  suggests  the  medal  of  Caradosso;  it  suggests 
also  the  profile  of  the  young  cardinal  Giuliano  della  Rovere 
in  Melozzo’s  fresco,  only  taking  into  account  the  passage 
of  time, — thirty  years  of  activity  and  devouring  ambition.1 

Mirandola  capitulated  the  21st  of  January,  1511;  and 
the  Rovere  was  so  eager  to  take  possession  that  he  would 
not  wait  till  the  barricaded  gates  of  the  city  could  be  set 
open,  but  had  himself  hoisted  in  a sort  of  basket  up  to  a 
breach  which  bad  been  made  in  the  wall  the  previous  even- 
ing.2 So  long  as  the  place  held  out,  he  talked  of  nothing 
but  putting  the  garrison  to  the  sword,  and  treating  the 
Countess  Francesca  as  the  most  degraded  of  her  sex. 
Once  victorious,  he  did  nothing  of  this  kind;  he  person- 
ally escorted  the  Countess  to  the  frontier,  and  listened 
with  an  indulgent  smile  to  her  threats  of  a speedy  re- 
venge. But  he  treated  the  Count  Castiglione  (author  of 

1 It  is  to  the  beloved  and  regretted  M.  Geffroy,  formerly  director 
of  the  French  School  at  Rome,  that  I owe  my  knowledge  of  this 
very  curious  portrait  at  Corneto.  Count  Bruschi  has  had  the  kind- 
ness to  allow  me  to  have  a photograph  made  from  this  picture, 
which  bears  the  subscription  “Jul.  II .Pont.  Max."  I have  not 
been  able  to  obtain  access  to  the  Armeria  of  the  Vatican,  where, 
according  to  tradition,  the  armour  of  Julius  II.  is  preserved.  Mel- 
ozzo’s fresco,  as  every  one  knows,  is  now  (transferred  to  canvas) 
in  the  third  hall  of  the  Vatican  picture  gallerj-. 

2 In  the  Galleria  geografica  of  the  Vatican  (a  prolongation  of 
the  gallery  of  the  Library),  where  are  the  maps  of  provinces  and 
plans  of  cities  belonging  to  the  Holy  See,  Julius  II.  is  represented, 
much  more  decorously,  making  his  entry  into  Mirandola  in  the 
sedia  gestatoria , a canopy  above  his  head.  It  is  needless  to  say 
the  paintings  in  this  gallery  are  not  contemporary  with  the  events 
represented,  nor  are  they  even  of  the  sixteenth  century. 


232 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


the  Cortegiano)  to  rebuffs  only,  when  the  latter  came  to 
congratulate  him  in  the  name  of  the  Duke  of  Urbino. 
The  scene  was  not  lacking  in  piquancy:  the  clever  and 
distinguished  Count  Baldassare, — you  will  remember  the 
marvellous  portrait  of  him  in  the  Uouvre  by  the  hand  of 
Raffaello, — the  most  intellectual  pleasure-lover  of  that 
epoch  of  the  Renaissance  and  its  arbiter  eleg antiarum , 
haranguing  a Pope  arrayed  in  wadded  overcoat  and  cuffiotto , 
who  had  on  his  lips  only  bestemmie  and  guard-room  talk! 
Julius  II.  returned  triumphantly  to  Bologna;  “ and  it 
was,”  says  Paris  de  Grassis,  “ a great  joy  for  the  people 
to  see  the  Pope,  venerable  by  age  and  his  long  beard, 
mounted,  like  a young  soldier,  on  a prancing  horse  {quasi 
juvenis  bellicosus).  He  was  simply  vested  in  a rochet, 
without  a stole;  nor  was  the  Host  carried  before  him. 

. . .”  During  all  the  rest  of  the  winter  he  was  seen 

coming  and  going  among  the  cities  of  Romagna,  negotiat- 
ing and  arming,  treating  with  various  envoys,  or  putting 
fortresses  in  a condition  for  defence.  He  went  in  the 
snow,  the  rain,  the  mud,  jolted  about  in  the  fearful  vehi- 
cles still  in  use  in  this  part  of  Italy, — high-wheeled  carts 
drawn  by  four  oxen  (in  lielice  vectus,  quatuor  bobics  sim- 
pliciter  trahentibus'). 

In  France,  in  Germany,  and  in  still  other  countries 
arose  an  outcry  of  surprise  and  indignation  at  news  of  a 
Successor  of  the  Apostles  in  command  of  armies,  besieging 
fortresses,  waging  war  upon  a woman,  a widow,  the  de- 
fender of  her  children’s  inheritance!  Pamphleteers  and 
caricaturists  had  free  course  in  Paris;  Ulrich  von  Hutten, 
then  a young  man,  soon  after  hounded  on  public  opinion 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-15 12)  233 

in  the  Rhenish  country,  by  his  Descriptio  Julii  IL,  and 
many  biting  epigrams;  Peter  Martyr  wrote  from  Spain 
that  his  hair  stood  on  end  ( cristcz  mihi  prce  horrore  rig- 
uerunt ) at  the  reading  of  certain  of  the  Rovere’s  bulls. 
The  sentiment  was  quite  different  in  Italy,  in  the  sweet 
land  dove  il  si  suona.  Some  evil  tongues  in  Rome  — the 
Eternal  City  had  always  a supply  of  these — might  indeed 
declare  that  the  Pope  had  “thrown  S.  Peter’s  keys  into 
the  Tiber  and  kept  only  S.  Paul’s  sword  ” but  Italian 
patriots,  poets,  and  humanists  praised  to  the  skies  the 
triple-crowned  soldier,  “who  gave  back  to  Latium  her  old 
renown,  her  liberty  so  long  trodden  under  foot  by  bar- 
barians.” 2 To  this  Raduni,  refined  and  enervated  as  it 
was,  the  tonsured  old  man  with  his  sword  was  like  a 
grand  Biblical  figure,  a second  Moses, — a pontefice  terribile , 
in  whom  there  was  nothing  to  find  fault  with  but — his 
beard:  from  the  time  of  Stephen  I.,  from  the  third  cent- 
ury, Rome  had  not  seen,  it  was  declared,  a Pope  unshorn  ! 
It  is  really  astonishing  to  observe  the  importance  which 
the  men  of  that  day  attached  to  this  question  of  toilette, 
the  endless  references  to  the  Rovere’s  beard  in  despatches 
and  letters  of  the  time.  Diplomats  and  chroniclers  are 
garrulous  thereupon;  they  are  forever  recurring  to  the 
subject,  and  discuss  “ the  event  ” in  every  variety  of  tone. 
Unquestionably  the  beard  made  a sensation,  made  a scan- 
dal; after  the  death  of  Julius  II.,  his  own  Council  of  the 
Rateran  did  not  neglect  to  remind  all  the  members  of  the 

’Verses  of  Pasquino.  Roscoe,  Leo  X.,  voi.  ii.,  p.  85. 

1 Jo.  Antonii  Flaininii  : Ad  Julium  II.  Carmitia  III.  Poetarum 
Hal.,  voi.  iv.,  p.  357. 


234  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


clergy  of  the  canonical  obligation  of  the  razor.1  How  is 
it  that  German  criticism  has  failed  to  find  in  this  amus- 
ing historical  fact  a motif  for  the  phenomenal  beard  of  the 
Moses  in  San  Pietro  in  Vincoli  ? 

There  were  soon  subjects  more  serious  to  comment 
upon.  The  winter  had  necessarily  slackened  military  op- 
erations; but  at  the  approach  of  spring,  the  “ barbarians  ” 
again  vigorously  resumed  the  offensive,  and  the  new  com- 
mander of  the  French  troops  exhibited  neither  the  hesita- 
tions nor  the  scruples  of  poor  Chaumont.  This  new 
commander  had,  moreover,  a personal  injury  to  avenge; 
for  he  was  no  other  than  the  Maréchal  Jean  Jacques 
Trivulzio,  the  father  of  Countess  Francesca  della  Miran- 
dola. He  prepared  his  revenge  with  consummate  art, 
established  an  understanding  with  the  malcontents  in 
Bologna,  and,  one  fine  day  (May  21,  1511)  the  good  peo- 
ple of  classic  Felsina  revolted,  drove  out  the  Pope’s 
legate,  Alidosi,  Cardinal  of  Pavia,  recalled  their  former 
masters,  the  Bentivogli,  and  destroyed  the  great  statue 
of  Julius  II.  over  the  portal  of  San  Petronio,  the  work  of 
Michelangelo.  The  Duke  of  Urbino,  called  upon  for  help 

1 Session  IX.  of  the  Rateran  Council,  May  5,  1514.  Reo  X.  and 
Adrian  VI.  were  clean-shaven.  After  the  sack  of  Rome,  Clement 
VII.  let  his  beard  grow  in  sign  of  mourning,  and  caused  a treatise 
to  be  written  ou  the  subject  by  Valerianus, — Pro  sacerdotum 
barbis.  From  that  time  ou,  many  pontiffs  have  worn  the  Apostolic 
beard.  Paul  V.  Borghese  was  the  first  to  wear  the  Henri  IV. 
beard.  From  Clement  XI.  to  our  time  the  pontiffs  have  been 
shaven.  I borrow  most  of  these  details  from  Moroni  (s.  v.  barba), 
who  seemed  to  me  special  authority  in  this  matter.  Before  becom- 
ing the  estimable  scholar  that  we  know,  author  of  a voluminous 
ecclesiastical  dictionary,  the  worthy  canon  for  many  years  served 
as  barber  to  Gregory  XVI. 


Gregory  IX.  Giving  the  Decretals  (Raffaello) 
See  p.  212 


no  and  the  Renaissance 


monical  obligation  of 

the  razor.1  How  is 

>n  criticism  has  failed 

in  this  amus- 

'act  a motif  for  the  pi 

, al  beard  of  the 

dietro  in  Vincoli 

e soon  subject*  more 

, to  comment 

viti  ter  had  ne< 

. cd  military  op- 

. it  the  appro:.'-.  i oi 

barbarians” 

ously  resumed  the  eden 

nil  the  new  com- 

ibe  French  troops  eVathii 

cither  the  hesita- 

: the  scruples  of  poor  - 

lont.  -This  new 

.it  r had,  moreover,  a per..  • 

: iry  to  avenge; 

was  no  other  than  the  ' 

Jean  Jacques 

»,  the  father  of  Countess  f 

• ..sea  della  Miran- 

prepared  his  . ..  -> 

ummate  art, 

i on  understands  tv  it  I 

malcontents  in 

; 1.  one  fine  day  fM* 

i : the  good  peo- 

ssic  Felsina  revolted,  < 

>\  - out  the  Pope’s 

Midosi,  Cardinal  of  Pavia, 

. died  their  former 

:.  Lie  Bentivogli,  and  ret; 

d the  great  statue 

■ ; over  the  portal  of  Sai; 

: i onio,  the  work  of 

The  Duke  of  I rbin 

m called  upon  for  help 

, . the  hater v.  t ; 

■;  lv  5,  1514.  Leo  X.  and 

■ lean-shaven.  Ain  > F 

;u.k  of  Rome,  Clement 

Cdu'auavwit  - » 1 • " * » 

...row  in  sign  of  monn.  ■ and  caused  a treatise 

— Pro  sacci  dotum 
hat  time  on  many  p< >n tiffs  have  worn  the  Apostolic 
Borghese  was  t t w . the  Henri  I\ . 

ii  iemeut  XI.  to  our  ti'ue  the  pontiffs  have  been 
'■..now  most  of  these  detail-  from  IVloroni  (s.  v.  barba), 
n o to  me  special  authority  in  this  matter.  Before  becora- 
. triable  scholar  that  we  know.  mUioi  of  a voluminous 

rrt&i.Ar ViY.r/itf  Zoo IxZF* 

rber  to  Gregory  XVI. 

SAS.  . <\  vfZ. 


seen 
rb<  e 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-1512)  235 

by  the  legate,  arrived  just  in  time  to  find  the  city  already 
occupied  by  Trivulzio,  who  inflicted  upon  him  a crushing 
defeat.  The  Countess  Francesca  returned  to  her  castle 
of  Mirandola;  Duke  Alfonso  d’Este  recovered  Modena 
and  the  other  places  in  the  territory  of  Ferrara;  the 
Pope’s  army  broke  up  in  the  greatest  disorder. 

It  was  at  Ravenna,  whither  he  had  gone  to  seek  and 
organise  new  resources  for  the  war,  that  Julius  II.  re- 
ceived news  of  the  catastrophe  of  Bologna;  shortly  the 
legate  and  the  general  appeared  in  his  presence,  each  to 
throw  upon  the  other  the  responsibility  for  the  disaster. 
After  a stormy  audience,  with  the  Pope,  Francesco  Ma- 
ria met,  in  the  street,  the  Cardinal  Alidosi,  and  ran  him 
through  with  his  sword  in  full  daylight  (May  28th).  The 
young  man  of  twenty-one  was  not  at  his  first  work  of  this 
kind;  four  years  earlier  he  had  assassinated  at  Urbino  a 
man  named  Andrea  Bravo,  who  was  the  lover  of  his  sister 
(a  Countess  Varano),  and  the  favourite  of  his  adoptive 
father,  the  old  Duke  Guidubaldo.  It  was  in  the  destiny 
of  Francesco  Maria  to  kill  the  favourites  of  his  two  great- 
est benefactors:  Julius  II.  had  an  unbounded  affection 
for  the  Cardinal  of  Pavia,  who  was  perhaps  the  only  per- 
son he  ever  really  loved. 

The  story  is  that  one  day,  early  in  the  reign  of  Alexan- 
der VI.,  Alidosi  saved  the  life  of  Cardinal  Giuliano  della 
Rovere,  by  preventing  him  from  touching  a poisoned 
draught  which  the  Borgia  had  prepared  for  him.  Alidosi 
was  the  Cardinal’s  companion  in  exile  in  France,  and  be- 
came his  most  intimate  confidant  in  the  Vatican  Palace. 
He  shared  his  master’s  artistic  tastes,  and  had  the  merit 


236  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


of  protecting  and  honouring  Michelangelo  as  the  greatest 
genius  of  the  age.  In  the  latter’s  great  quarrel  with  the 
Rovere  in  1506,  the  Cardinal  of  Pavia  appeared  as  a zeal- 
ous mediator,  eager  to  bring  about  a reconciliation,  and 
testifying  to  the  kindly  feelings  of  the  pontiff.  He  it  was, 
also,  who,  in  the  name  of  Julius  II.,  signed  the  contract 
for  painting  the  Sistine  vault.  We  can  never  sufficiently 
regret  the  loss  of  the  correspondence  which  Alidosi  main- 
tained with  Buonarroti  at  various  times.  Only  a single 
letter  remains,  dated  Ravenna,  May  3,  1510  (a  year  be- 
fore the  murder),  written  in  a tone  of  deference  and  cordi- 
ality rarely  used  at  that  time  by  the  powerful  of  this  world 
towards  artists: 

“ Having  constructed  at  L, a Magliana,  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  his  Holiness,  a great  edifice  with  a little  chapel, 
I should  like  to  compensate  for  the  narrow  proportions  of 
this  cappelletto,  by  the  excellence  of  its  paintings,  and, 
notably,  by  a Baptism  of  Christ  ' from  your  hand,  with 
which  no  other  can  be  compared.  I believe  that  I may 
count  upon  you,  as  you  may  upon  me  in  all  cases.  I 
know  that  you  are  very  much  occupied;  nevertheless,  I 
beg  and  conjure  you,  if  ever  you  have  wished  to  please 
me,  to  make  these  two  small  figures  in  fresco  (the  Christ 
and  S.  John),  which  I shall  value  much  more  than  the 
whole  edifice,  and  for  which  I shall  be  under  eternal  ob- 
ligations to  you.  . . .” 

The  letter  has  on  the  verso  this  emphatic  address: 

1 The  chapel  was  dedicated  to  Saint  John  the  Baptist.  Alidosi’s 
letter  is  published  by  Danielli,  Carte  Michelangeolesche  inedite 
(Milan,  1865,  40),  p.  14. 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-1512)  2 37 

“ To  Michelangelo,  prince  of  painting  and  of  the  statuary 
art.” 

Alidosi’s  building  at  La  Magliana  1 is  still  standing — 
sadly  ruinous,  it  is  true,  but  in  the  ruins  can  easily  be  de- 
tected the  general  plan  of  the  architecture,  due  probably 
to  Giuliano  di  Sangallo.  The  rectangular  court,  pro- 
tected  by  a moat  and  surrounded  by  walls  with  Guelphic 
battlements,  is  anterior  to  the  epoch  of  Julius  II.,  and 
dates  from  the  pontificate  of  Innocent  VIII.  ; you  pass 
through  the  monumental  portal  into  the  courtyard,  and 
Alidosi’s  “ great  edifice  ” is  before  you.  On  the  ground 
floor,  five  arches  adorned  with  pilasters  give  access  to  a 
spacious  vestibule;  above,  is  a large  and  handsome  hall, 
whose  walls  are  decorated  with  frescos  representing 
Apollo  and  the  Muses.  The  left  wing  of  the  building 
joins,  at  its  extremity,  the  casino  of  Innocent  VIII.,  recog- 
nisable by  its  octagonal  pillars;  in  the  angle  formed  by 
this  wing  and  the  main  building  a second  vestibule  on  the 
ground  floor  leads  to  the  cappelletto,.  A pupil  of  Perugino, 
Giovanni  di  Pietro,  called  Lo  Spagna,  painted  both  the 
great  hall  of  the  Muses  and  three  lunettes  of  the  little 
chapel, — God  the  Father  Blessing  the  World,  an  Annuncia- 
tion, and  a Visitation:  the  fourth  lunette  above  the  en- 
trance and  opposite  the  altar  was  to  have  had  for  subject 
the  Baptism  of  Christ,  and  it  was  this  which  the  Cardinal 
of  Pavia  desired  to  have  executed  by  Buonarroti.  The 
Cardinal  did  honour  to  his  august  master  with  the  whole 
building:  the  name  of  Julius  II.  surmounts  each  window 

1 About  nine  miles  from  Rome,  the  first  station  on  the  line  to 
Civita  Vecchia. 


238  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


opening  into  the  courtyard;  only  over  the  entrance  to  the 
chapel  is  this  inscription:  F.  Card.  Papiens.  Julii  II 
Alumnus. 

Compared  with  other  famous  Roman  villas,  notably 
with  that  one  which  the  banker  Agostino  Chigi  erected 
about  this  time  in  the  Trastevere  (the  Farnesina  of  the 
present  day),  Alidosi’s  “ great  edifice  ” is  modest  enough, 
and  says  more  for  its  founder’s  gratitude  than  for  his  ex- 
cessive love  of  splendour.  The  great  fame  of  La  Mag- 
liana  really  dates  from  the  following  reign,  when  Leo  X. 
made  it  his  favourite  hunting-lodge,  the  central  point  of 
his  dulces  venationes , which  extended  thence  to  Ostia, 
Palo,  and  Cervetri.  It  was  his  pleasure  to  pass  whole 
months  of  the  year  in  this  lodge  on  the  bank  of  the 
Tiber  with  his  huntsmen,  his  musicians,  his  poets,  and 
his  buffoons;  and  in  the  account-books  of  his  reign 
which  have  come  down  to  us,  we  find  many  a mention  of 
expenses  incurred  for  the  aqueducts,  stables,  warrens, 
kennels,  aviaries,  and  falconries  of  La  Magliana.  Not  a 
vestige  of  these  Medicean  works  is  left;  the  place  which 
once  resounded  with  so  much  merry  tumult  is  to-day  one 
of  the  most  deserted  and  desolate  parts  of  the  Campagna.' 

Still  another  building,  and  this  one  in  Rome  itself,  in 

1 Gruner  and  Platnei  (/  freschi  della  Cappella  Magliana , Lon- 
don, 1847)  had  the  opportunity  of  seeing  these  frescos  in  their 
place  and  have  best  described  their  positions.  Since  then,  all 
have  been  dispersed.  Those  of  the  hall  of  the  Muses  (with  Apollo 
playing  the  violin,  as  in  Raffaello’s  Parnasso)  are  now  in  the 
Picture  Gallery  of  the  Capitol  (Hall  I,  Nos.  1-10).  They  have 
been  transferred  to  canvas  and  deplorably  retouched.  The  lun- 
ette, from  the  chapel,  of  God  the  Father  Blessing  the  World,  is 
now  in  the  Louvre.  In  place  of  the  Baptism  of  Christ,  which  the 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-15 12)  239 

the  Leonine  City,  speaks  to  us  of  Alidosi,  although  this 
palace  is  now  generally  known  as  the  Convento  dei  Pen- 
itenzieri.1 It  was  built  (1470-90)  by  Domenico  della 
Rovere,  Cardinal  of  San  Clemente;  the  arms  of  this 
nephew  of  Sixtus  IV.,  and  his  device,  Deo  soli , are  sculp- 
tured profusely  in  the  apartments  of  the  interior.  The 
spacious  court,  with  its  octagonal  columns  and  its  decor- 
ation in  graffito,  bears  marks  of  the  epoch  which,  rightly 
or  wrongly,  is  designated  by  the  name  of  Baccio  Pontelli; 
and  in  the  first  story  we  may  admire  an  enchanting  ceil- 
ing by  Pinturicchio,  half  in  fresco  and  half  in  stucco,  with 
delicious  representations  of  centaurs,  sirens,  griffins,  and 
other  mythological  and  allegorical  subjects;  it  is  only  to 
be  regretted  that  the  good  Penitentiary  fathers  should 
have  disfigured  this  splendid  hall  by  frightful  compart- 
ments. Cardinal  Domenico  died  in  1501,  and  some  years 
later  there  is  mention  of  his  house  as  a sort  of  headquar- 
ters of  the  artists  who,  under  the  direction  of  Bramante, 
and  before  Raffaello’s  coming,  wrere  employed  to  paint 
the  “ Upper  Rooms  ” of  the  Vatican  ; but  as  early  as  1509, 

Cardinal  desired  but  did  not  obtain,  there  was  a Martyrdom  of 
Saint  Felicitas,  which  we  know  only  from  an  engraving  by  Marc- 
antonio, with  the  name,  Raphael  Urbin.  I,  myself,  believe,  in 
contradiction  to  the  opinion  of  Dollmayr  ( Raphael's  IVerkstatt , 
Vienna,  1895,  pp.  106-108),  that  the  God  Blessing  the  World , of  the 
Bouvre,  and  the  Martyrdom  of  Saint  Felicitas,  were  painted  from 
designs  by  Raffaello,  after  Alidosi’s  death,  and  probably  at  the 
command  of  Julius  II. 

1 Piazza  Scossacavalli,  No.  145,  opposite  the  Palazzo  Giraud- 
Torlonia.  It  is  surprising  that  Schmarsow,  in  his  work  Pinturicchio 
hi  Rom  (Stuttgart,  1882),  should  make  no  mention  of  the  Convento 
dei  Penitenzieri. 


240  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


it  appears  from  Albertini’s  Mirabilia  that  it  had  be- 
come the  dwelling  of  Alidosi.  It  was  probably  a gift 
from  Julius  II.,  and  the  new  proprietor  made  it  a duty  to 
decorate  with  special  splendour  the  great  chapel  of  his 
residence, — a singular  decoration  and  most  characteristic! 
In  this  sanctuary  of  the  faith  nothing  speaks  of  God; 
everything  is  attributed  to  man, — to  two  men,  the  Ligur- 
ian Pope  and  his  devoted  alumnus.  No  contrast  more 
piquant  to  the  Deo  soli  of  the  founder  could  be  imagined. 
The  chapel  in  its  construction  reminds  one  of  the  Sistine; 
it  is  a long  rectangular  nave  with  a round-arched  vault: 
on  each  of  the  two  tympani  rises  a tall  oak  (the  emblem 
of  the  Rovere)  whose  branches  overspread  a cardinal’s 
hat,  and  whose  trunk  is  barred  by  a somewhat  far- 
fetched inscription  1 : the  vault  is  in  squares,  where  the 
Pope’s  blazon  and  that  of  the  Cardinal  of  Pavia  (a  black 
eagle  with  a white  lily  on  the  breast)  alternate  through- 
out, on  a background  of  gold.  The  intimacy  of  the  mas- 
ter and  his  man  is  proclaimed  here  with  much  redundance 
and  ostentation,  but  it  would  be  unjust  not  to  recognise 
the  elegant  and  harmonious  simplicity  of  the  whole  effect. 

Is  it  credible  that  this  favourite  and  “nursling”  of 
Julius  II.,  the  friend  of  Michelangelo  and  of  Erasmus, 
the  descendant  of  the  ancient  and  illustrious  lords  of 
Imola, — who,  moreover,  to  brilliant  mental  gifts  united 
the  advantages  of  remarkable  beauty,2 — this  Cardinal  of 

1 Agite  mortales  ocìa , quos  dbo  et  umbra  quercus  alit. 

2 Eugène  Muntz  maintains  that  Raffaello’s  famous  Cardinal  va. 
Madrid  (there  falsely  called  Bibbiena),  is  really  a portrait  of  Alidosi 
(. Archivio  storico  dell'Arte , 1891,  p.  328).  Authentic  medals  of 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-15 12)  241 

Pavia,  was,  nevertheless,  one  of  the  vilest,  most  rapacious, 
most  cruel  men  that  ever  trod  the  earth  ? Such  he  is 
declared  to  be  by  Paolo  Giovio,  Guicciardini,  and  all  the 
other  contemporary  historians!  Bembo — under  obliga- 
tions to  him,  moreover, — has  etched  his  portrait  in  these 
concise  and  cutting  words:  Vir  cui  nulla  J ides , nulla  re- 
ligio , nihil  pudicum , nihil  unquam  sanctum  fuit.  “ If  I 
had  to  relate  his  treacheries  and  rascalities  of  every 
kind,”  says  Paris  de  Grassis,  ‘‘a  volume  would  not 
suffice.”  How  was  it  possible  for  the  Rovere  to  be  ignor- 
ant of  all  this,  and  if  not  ignorant,  how  could  he  be  in- 
different to  it, — he,  who  was  never  cruel  or  malicious, 
and,  notwithstanding  his  lawlessness  and  his  fits  of  tem- 
per, almost  always  showed  real  nobility  of  mind  ? 

I confess  this  is  to  me  one  of  the  most  irritating  enig- 
mas of  the  reign  of  Julius  II.;  but  it  is  certain  that  the 
tragic  death  of  Alidosi  was  everywhere  heard  of  with  de- 
light, and  not  a word  of  blame  was  meted  out  to  his  mur- 
derer. Paolo  Giovio  celebrates  in  glowing  verse  the  young 
duke-justiciary;  he  compares  Francesco  Maria  to  Her- 
cules making  an  end  of  Cacus  and  the  Hydra;  Fausto 
Maddaleni  declares  that  never  hand  more  noble  destroyed 
such  a Catiline  and  Verres  in  one1;  even  the  dry  and 

Alidosi,  in.  the  Bibliothèque  de  l’École  des  Beaux-Arts  in  Paris 
seem  to  confirm  this  conjecture. 

'Maddaleni’s  quatrain  (hitherto  unpublished)  is  in  the  MS.  col- 
lection of  his  poems  in  the  Vatican  Library,  No.  3419,  p.  59  : 

D.  M.  Francisci  Alidoxii. 

“ Moribus  et  vita  Verres,  Catilina  cadendo, 

Sed  noti  pugnando  fortiter,  interii. 

Unum  tamen  misero  laus  est,  unumque  levamen  : 

Non  poteram  dextra  nobiliore perire." 

l6 


242 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


pedantic  master  of  ceremonies  of  the  papal  Court  becomes 
lyric  on  this  theme: 

“ Bone  Dens  ! how  just  are  Thy  judgments,  and  what 
thanks  we  owe  Thee  that  Thou  has  rewarded  the  false 
traitor  according  to  his  deeds;  for  we  may  rightly  say 
that  this  punishment  was  executed,  or  at  least  allowed 
by  Thee,  without  whose  will  not  a leaf  stirs  upon  the  tree. 
Again,  therefore,  let  thanks  be  rendered  to  Thee!  ” 1 

To  Julius  IT.  the  blow  was  cruel:  he  suffered  as  ruler, 
as  pontiff,  as  friend  of  the  victim,  as  kinsman  of  the  mur- 
derer. He  could  no  longer  endure  the  sight  of  places 
blood-stained  by  a crime  so  horrible:  two  hours  after  the 
fatal  event  he  entered  his  litter  to  be  borne  to  Rome:  he 
wept!  Reaching  Rimini  on  the  28th  of  May,  he  read  on 
the  cathedral  doors  placards  announcing  the  convocation 
of  a general  council  at  Pisa  for  the  first  day  of  September, 
— a council  “ to  reform  the  Church  in  its  head  and  in  its 
members,” — and  the  call  bore  the  signature  of  nine  card- 
inals. Thus  Louis  XII.  and  Maximilian  audaciously  ex- 
ecuted their  threat  made  at  Tours:  what  no  man  had 
dared  to  do  against  the  Borgia  had  been  ventured  against 
him,  the  nephew  of  Sixtus  IV.  ! Since  the  disaster  of 

1 Withal,  neither  Paris  de  Grassis,  nor  Guicciardini,  nor  Paolo 
Giovio,  nor  Bembo,  nor  any  other  man,  produces  one  single  positive 
fact  in  support  of  the  charges  they  all  make  against  the  Cardinal 
of  Pavia,  for  his  severity  against  the  Bolognese  can  scarcely  be  in- 
tended here,  and  still  less  is  it  to  be  admitted  that  Alidosi  was  in 
connivance  with  Trivulzio  against  the  Pope.  A jealousy  of  the 
sole  and  all-powerful  favourite  of  the  Rovere,  as  well  as  a desire  to 
please  the  Duke  of  Urbino,  may  perhaps  have  had  a large  share  in 
blackening  the  memory  of  Alidosi.  For  one,  I believe  that  he 
merits  a new  trial. 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-15 12)  243 

Bologna,  the  tragedy  was  developing  with  bewildering 
rapidity;  and,  like  every  actual  human  tragedy,  it  had 
also  its  comic,  even  grotesque  episodes, — for  example,  the 
strange  fancy  that  had  seized  the  Emperor  about  this 
time  of  wishing  to  supplant  the  Rovere  on  the  pontifical 
throne.  Maximilian  announced  this  in  so  many  words  to 
Ferdinand  the  Catholic,  to  Lichtenstein,  and  to  his  own 
daughter,  Margaret,  Governess  of  the  Netherlands;  a 
letter  to  Margaret,  written  in  French,  has  the  signature: 
“ Maximilianus,  the  future  Pope!  ” 

On  the  27th  of  June,  1511,  Julius  returned,  depressed 
and  defeated,  to  the  city  of  Rome,  whence,  ten  months 
before,  he  had  gone  out  with  hopes  so  radiant.  S. 
Paul’s  sword  had  been  broken  in  his  hands,  and  there 
were  many  who  asked  whether  it  would  now  be  possible 
for  him  to  fish  up  out  of  the  Tiber  the  keys  of  S.  Peter. 

hi 

The  first  act  of  the  pontiff,  after  his  return  to  Rome, 
was  the  promulgation  (July  18,  1511)  of  the  bull  Sacro- 
sanctce,  by  which  he  convoked  a general  Council  for  the 
19th  of  April  of  the  following  year  in  the  Lateran  Ba- 
silica, while  he  smote  with  excommunication  and  ana- 
thema all  who  should  take  part  in  the  schismatic  assembly 
at  Pisa.  This  was,  as  a grave  contemporary  historian  ex- 
pressed it,  “to  drive  out  one  nail  with  another,”  1 to 
throw  confusion  into  the  hostile  ranks  and  destroy  all 

1 Ut  quod,  agunt  clavum  davo  truderet.  H.  Borgii,  Hist,  de 
bello  Hal.,  voi.  vi.,  p.  93. 


244  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


pretext  for  agitation.  From  this  day  forward,  in  fact, 
the  Council  of  Pisa,  the  condliabulum,  as  men  at  once  be- 
gan calling  it,  lost  all  raison  d' btre  canonical  or  logical, 
and  had  but  a factitious  and  factious  existence.  Com- 
posed almost  exclusively  of  French  clerg}7,  repudiated  by 
the  generality  of  the  Catholic  world,  ill-received  by  the 
townspeople  where  it  essayed  to  hold  its  sessions,  the 
Council  of  Pisa  wandered  about — from  Pisa  to  Milan,  from 
Milan  to  Asti,  from  Asti  to  Lyons,  where  it  vanished  in 
the  fogs  of  the  Rhone. 

It  had  been  feared  for  a moment,  immediately  after 
the  catastrophe  of  Bologna,  that  Trivulzio  would  seize 
an  occasion  so  favourable  to  march  straight  upon  Rome. 
But  this  fear  was  quickly  dispelled.  Far  from  seeking 
to  push  his  victory  to  an  extreme  Louis  XII.  recalled 
his  general  to  Milan,  and  sent  to  the  Vatican  (in  July) 
a very  near  kinsman  of  the  Pope,  one  of  the  Orsini, 
with  propositions  of  peace  which  were  astonishingly 
moderate.  This  was  due  to  the  fact  that,  notwith- 
standing the  Synod  of  Tours,  and  the  license  it  gave 
to  make  war  upon  the  Holy  Father,  the  scruples  which 
Chaumont  had  felt  lay  at  the  bottom  of  very  many 
hearts;  it  was  also  to  be  considered  that  by  too  much  suc- 
cess and  too  large  an  increase  of  territory  in  Italy,  the 
Most  Christian  King  risked  arousing  the  jealousy,  and 
with  it  the  consciences,  of  the  other  Catholic  kings.  Al- 
ready, the  preceding  year  at  Blois,  whither  he  had  come 
on  a mission  to  the  Court  of  France,  Macchiavelli,  by  no 
means  to  be  suspected  of  affection  for  the  papacy,  had 
made  the  mischievous  remark  that  there  was  no  worthier 


The  Erythraean  Sibyl  (Michelangelo) 
See  p.  307 


' 

ward,  in  fact, 

isa,  the  u 

;en  at  once  be- 

.1 all  rat  . 

ccai  or  logical, 

fictitious  ,iii 

vistence.  Corn- 

ost  exclusively  ol  1 

repudiated  by 

oierality  of  the  Catholic  worl 

.reived  by  the 

utopie  where  it  ess.tv od  r,o 

ts  sessions,  the 

• Fisa  wandered  a'ikont  - iu 

:sa  to  Milan,  from 

iti,  from  Asti  to  L'  ■ " 

ere  it  vanished  in 

of  the  Rhone. 

been  feared  for  o ir 

; imediately  after 

•s,  r<  *he  of  Bolo  a 

. io  would  seize 

>n  so  favour  > • 

light  upon  Rome. 

■ - car  was  qu  c ' 

• r from  seeking 

' his  victory  ?o  ; • o-  u; 

XII.  recalled 

eneral  to  Milan  r 

. .dican  (in  July) 

r>  near  kinsman  of  - o 

of  the  Orsini, 

i _ : ! O-  Oi  \yr  ' c 

•re  astonishingly 

This  was  dut 

net  that,  notwith- 

Synod  of  s 

the  license  it  gave 

r upon  the  H r t « 

the  scruples  which 

.'.ol  felt  lay  at  the  ! 

>.  tom  of  very  many 

liso  to  be  erv  • : 1 1 at  by  too  much  suc- 
large  au  iucr-  ■■  territory  in  Italy,  the 
v-:i an  King  risk'1  . arousing  the  jealousy,  and 
consciences,  ot  the  other  Catholic  kings.  Al- 
; .receding  year  at  Blois,  whither  he  had  come 
- to  the  Court  of  France,  Macchiavelli,  by  no 
e suspected  of  affection  for  the  papacy,  had 
: schievous  remark  that  there  was  uo  worthier 
(oaaotiAJHHOiM)  jvai3  vtAif.HHTYjiH  hhT 
\o^  A ^ 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-15 12)  245 

pretext  to  be  employed  against  any  prince  than  to  declare 
oneself  the  protector  of  the  Holy  Church  against  him,  and 
that  the  King  in  this  war  might  have  all  Europe  upon  his 
hands.1  Julius  II.  welcomed  with  much  cordiality  the 
French  overtures,  but  only  that  he  might  gain  time,  re- 
organise his  army,  strengthen  his  alliance  with  the  Swiss, 
and  negotiate  with  all  the  States  hostile  to  France,  notably 
with  Spain  and  England.  His  negotiations  were  carried 
forward  with  a rapidity  surprising  for  the  period;  at  the 
end  of  six  weeks  (about  the  middle  of  August)  the  princi- 
pal articles  of  the  Holy  League  were  already  agreed  upon, 
and  only  awaited  their  solemn  ratification. 

Meantime,  there  is  no  change  in  the  Pope’s  daily  life, 
during  these  critical,  agonised  six  weeks.  His  meals  are 
always  very  abundant,  with  copious  draughts  of  a certain 
strong,  thick  wine  2;  he  goes  hunting;  he  takes  the  coun- 
try air  from  time  to  time  in  villas  of  the  neighbourhood. 
È una  terribile  cosa  come  manza  Sua  Santità , writes  (July 


1 Tirarsi  adosso  tutto  il  mondo  (getter  from  Blois,  July  26,  1510). 

2 Count  Gnoli,  the  very  courteous  prefect  of  the  Biblioteca 
Nazionale  (Vittorio  Emtnanuele),  has  kindly  pointed  out  to  me  the 
following  amusing  anecdote  in  a rather  rare  book,  entitled  Facetie, 
Motti  e Burle,  by  Lodovico  Domenichi  (Venice,  1584,  p.  20)  : “ In 
one  of  the  rooms  decorated  for  him  by  Raffaello,  Pope  Julius  II. 
had  himself  painted  on  one  wall  hearing  mass  on  his  knees  ; on 
the  other,  coming  in  from  the  Belvedere  borne  in  his  sedia.  The 
latter  portrait  is  much  more  highly  coloured  than  the  former 
( molto  più  colorito),  and  many  censured  Raffaello  for  not  making 
the  two  alike.  But  Marcantonio  Colonna  replied  to  them  that 
they  were  all  in  error,  and  that  Raffaello  had  well  observed  the 
proprieties  {aveva  servato  benissimo  it  decore),  the  Pope  being 
sober  at  mass,  and  very  red-faced  when  he  came  from  the  Belve- 
dere, where  he  had  been  drinking.” 


246  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


12,  1511)  to  Isabella  Gonzaga,  Marchesa  di  Mantua,  a 
certain  Grossino,  in  the  suite  of  her  son  Federico  who 
was  at  that  time  living  in  Rome,  and  had  his  lodgings  in 
the  Belvedere.1 

“ The  Pope  has  hunted  several  days  at  Ostia  in  com- 
pany with  il  signor  Federico.  His  Holiness  is  delighted 
whenever  he  brings  down  a large  pheasant;  then  he 
shows  the  bird  to  all  who  are  near  him,  talking  and 
laughing  much.  . . . To-day  (July  25th)  the  Pope 

went  to  the  vigna  of  Messer  Agostino  Chigi  [the  Farne- 
sina], and  remained  all  day,  having  dinner  and  sup- 
per there.  It  is  a beautiful  palazotto , though  not  yet 
finished;  very  rich  in  all  kinds  of  ornamentation,  espe- 
cially in  splendid  coloured  marbles.  Signor  Federico  sat 
at  table  with  the  Pope,  and,  during  dinner,  recited  in  his 
presence  a Latin  eclogue.” 

This  was  the  second  visit  within  the  month  (the  first 
occurred  July  5th)  which  the  Rovere  had  paid  to  the 
fortunate  owner  of  the  palazotto , and  I greatly  suspect 
that  these  gentilezze  were  not  entirely  without  motive. 
We  know  from  other  sources  that  the  Pope  about  this 
time  borrowed  from  the  great  Siennese  banker  the  sum 
of  forty  thousand  ducats,  leaving  with  him  in  pawn  the 
famous  tiara  of  Paul  II.,  il  regno,  as  it  was  called;  now 
it  is  precisely  in  the  interval  between  these  two  visits 
made  to  the  Transteverine  villa  that  Grossino  writes  (July 

1 1 borrow  these  quotations  from  Grossino’s  letters  from  the  in- 
teresting paper  of  Signor  Aless.  Luzio:  Federico  Gonzaga , ostaggio, 
in  the  Archivio  di  storia  patria  Romana , 1886,  voi.  ix.,  pp.  509- 
582. 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-15 12)  247 

12th)  to  the  Marchesa  without  at  all  suspecting  this  finan- 
cial transaction:  “ His  Holiness  takes  great  pleasure  in 
looking  at  jewels;  yesterday  he  had  brought  to  him  (from 
the  Castle  of  Sant’  Angelo)  the  two  regni , — one,  of  the 
value  of  two  hundred  thousand  ducats,  the  other,  of  one 
hundred  thousand.  I think  that  never  again  shall  I be- 
hold jewels  so  fine,  with  so  many  pearls  and  precious 
stones.”  The  next  year  (December,  1512),  Julius  II., 
victorious  and  triumphant,  took  back  from  the  banker  the 
regno , without  ceremony,  and  without  payment,  simply 
sending  the  bargello  to  get  the  pledge,  or,  failing  that,  to 
bring  the  person  of  whomsoever  detained  it.1  Messer 
Agostino  Chigi  must  have  seen  that  day  that  State  loans, 
even  with  security  given,  were  not  always  the  safest  of 
investments  ! 

It  is  needless  to  add  that,  since  his  return  to  Rome,  the 
Rovere  thinks  often  of  his  artistic  collections  and  under- 
takings. He  occupies  himself  with  the  installing  of  his 
anticaglie  in  the  charming  cortile  which  Bramante  has  built 
for  them.  “ The  Pope,”  says  a letter  of  Grossino  dated 
July  12th,  “ has  placed  in  the  Belvedere  an  Apollo , which 
is  thought  as  fine  as  the  Laocoon  ” 2 ; later,  he  causes  also 

1 MS.  of  Tizio,  cited  by  Cugnoni  {Archivio  di  storia  patri  Ro- 
mana, voi.  iii. , p.  295).  Sanuto  gives  a slightly  different  version 
of  this  incident. 

2 This  appears  to  be  contradictory  to  Albertini  {Mirabilia)  who, 
as  early  as  1509,  placed  the  Apollo  in  the  Vatican.  Possibly  we 
should  distinguish  here  between  the  Vatican  and  the  Belvedere. 
As  to  the  Tiberinus  and  the  Cleopatra,  Grossino  gives  very  curious 
details  in  his  letters  of  January  and  February,  1512  (Tuzio,  toe.  cit., 
p.  435  and  note). 


248  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


the  Tiber  (now  in  the  Louvre)  and  the  Cleopatra  (the 
Ariadne  of  the  Vatican)  to  be  transported  thither.  During 
this  same  month  of  July  the  Pope  poses  for  his  portrait 
in  the  fresco  of  the  Decretals  ; under  date  of  August  16th, 
Grossino’s  correspondence  speaks  incidentally  of  the  room 
“in  which  His  Holiness  is  painted  by  Raffaello,  al  natural 
con  la  barba."  He  also  goes  to  visit  Michelangelo’s  work 
in  the  Sistine,  and  obtains  from  the  artist  a promise  that 
on  the  approaching  grand  festa  of  the  Madonna,  the  chapel 
shall  be  freed  from  its  scaffoldings  and  given  back  to  its 
religious  use.  The  eve  and  the  day  of  the  Assumption, 
he  comes  thither  to  hear  vespers  and  mass,  and  to  enjoy 
the  effect  of  the  paintings  of  the  vault.1 

Two  days  later  (August  17th),  he  is  at  the  point  of 
death;  he  has  contracted  a malarial  fever  in  a day’s  shoot- 
ing at  Ostia,  and  his  life  is  despaired  of.  The  report 
of  his  death  is  spread  through  the  city,  and  then  ensues  a 
strange,  fantastic  scene,  a reminiscence  of  the  times  of 
Rienzo  and  Porcaro.  The  heirs  of  great  feudal  names 
— Colonna,  Orsini,  Cesarini,  Savelli  — go  up  to  the  Capi- 
tol, and  call  upon  the  Roman  people  to  recover  their 
ancient  liberties.  In  an  impassioned  harangue,  which  is 
withal  very  characteristic  of  the  spirit  animating  this 
hypocritical  defence  of  popular  rights,  the  young  Pompeo 
Colonna,  bishop  of  Riete,  abbot  of  Subiaco  and  Grotto 

1 Pontifex  in  Vigilia  et  Die  Gloriosce  Virginis  Assumptce  voluit 
interesse  Vesperis  et  Missce  in  majori  Capella  Palatina  per  Sacris- 
tam  celebratis  festivitate . Nam  ea  capella  Assumptioni prcedictce 
dicala  est,  et  ad  earn  Pontifex  venit,  vel  ut  picturas  novas  ibidem 
noviter  detedas  videret,  vel  quia  sic  ex  devotione  ductus  fuerit. 
Paris  de  Grassis,  15  Aug.,  1511. 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-15 12)  249 

Ferrata,1  depicts  the  shameful  rule  under  which  has  fallen 
the  great  Republic  which  once  ruled  the  world  : “An  abject 
rule,  comparable  only  to  that  existing  in  Fgypt,  where 
neither  the  dignity  of  the  Sultan  nor  the  grades  of  the 
Mamalucchi  are  hereditary.  But  the  Sultan  of  Cairo  and 
his  Mamelukes  are  at  least  brave  men  and  proud,  hostile 
to  all  the  effeminacies  of  life,  whereas  Rome  is  the  slave  of 
idlers,  cowards,  foreigners,  and  low-born  men.”  The  two 
Conservatori  of  Rome,  Altieri  and  Stefaneschi,  are  already 
proposing  the  re-establishment  of  the  Republic,  the  arm- 
ing of  the  populace,  and  the  seizure  of  the  Castle  of  Sant’ 
Angelo,  when  suddenly  from  the  Vatican  comes  the  news 
that  the  Pope’s  supposed  sinking  was  only  a fainting-fit, 
and  that  the  rabbi  (the  Jewish  physician  of  his  Holiness) 
still  gives  hope.2  At  once,  the  Capitoline  piazza  is  cleared  ; 
the  noble  tribunes  disperse  in  all  directions;  Pompeo 
Colonna  takes  refuge  in  Subiaco;  Orsini  and  Pietro  Mar- 
gano  flee  as  far  as  into  France. 

Care  was  taken  to  conceal  from  the  sick  man  the  mad 
doings  of  this  day  on  the  Capitol,  but  in  the  end  he  got 


1 It  is  the  same  Pompeo  Colonna  who  later,  as  Cardinal,  by  the 
ambush  of  Sept.  20,  1526  preluded  the  great  sack  of  Rome.  I bor- 
row his  Capitoline  discourse  from  Guicciardini,  Storia , voi.  x.,  p.  3. 
— In  the  great  hall  of  the  Colonna  Gallery  in  Rome  is  a portrait  of 
Pompeo  as  Cardinal,  a work  of  Lorenzo  Lotto,  but  much  restored. 
The  Cardinal  has  an  extremely  insignificant  head  ; the  spaniel  that 
he  caresses  with  his  right  hand  looks  much  more  intelligent. 

2 On  the  4th  of  February,  1572,  a fortnight  before  the  death  of 
Julius  II.,  the  archdeacon  Gabbioneta  writes  to  the  Marquis  of 
Mantua  : “ Sono  stà  chiamati  molti  medici , ma  il  Rabi  è il  creduto 
et  è quello  che  fa  tutto , per  haverlo  governato  molti  e molti  anni.” 
— A.  Luzio,  loc.  cit.,  p.  554. 


250 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


the  whole  story,  and  knew  also  how  many  cardinals 
(Grossino  incriminates  no  less  than  fifteeen)  were  sharers 
in  the  conspiracy  of  the  barons.  These  Roman  barons 
owed  to  him  their  deliverance  from  the  sanguinary 
tyranny  of  the  Borgias,  and  the  members  of  the  Colonna 
and  of  the  Orsini  houses  were  allied  to  the  Rovere  by 
family  ties!  And  what  could  be  said  of  these  cardinals— 
some  of  whom  took  part  openly  in  the  conciliabulum  of 
Pisa,  and  others  covertly  incited  the  city  to  revolt  against 
the  sovereign  pontiff  ? He  saw  himself  betrayed  and 
abandoned  by  the  very  men  who  most  owed  him  grat- 
itude and  attachment.  His  nearest  relative,  the  Duke 
of  Urbino,  he  had  been  obliged  to  excommunicate  and 
bring  to  judgment  for  a horrible  crime;  feeling  him- 
self near  death  he  granted  absolution  to  the  young  man 
and  admitted  him  to  his  bedside,  though  still  without 
ceasing  to  distrust  him.  Of  all  who  surrounded  Julius  II. 
in  his  illness  there  was  but  one  person  entirely  beyond 
suspicion,  and  this  was  young  Federico  Gonzaga,  whose 
name  has  been  often  mentioned,  but  whose  presence  in 
the  Belvedere  needs  to  be  explained. 

Francesco  Gonzaga,  Marquis  of  Mantua,  a member  of 
the  Ueague  of  Cambrai,  had  been  made  prisoner  by  the 
Venetians  at  the  battle  of  Legnano  in  August,  1509.  His 
wife,  the  celebrated  Isabella  d’Este  Gonzaga,  after  making 
application  to  all  the  Powers  in  turn,— to  the  Emperor, 
to  the  King  of  France,  and  even  to  the  Grand  Turk, — at 
last  became  aware  that  Julius  II.  alone  had  influence 
enough  with  the  Signory  to  obtain  the  liberation  of  the 
formidable  soldier,  her  husband.  Julius  II.  did  obtain  it 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-15 12)  251 


(July,  1510);  but  Isabella  was  obliged  first  to  consent  that 
her  son  Federico,  at  that  time  ten  years  of  age,  should 
remain  with  the  Pope  as  a hostage,  a guarantee  for  the 
conduct  of  the  Marquis  in  future.  Do  not  hastily  cry  out 
upon  the  lack  of  generosity  on  the  part  of  the  Rovere! 
The  “chivalrous”  Maximilian,  and  Louis  XII.,  who  was 
called  “ the  Father  of  his  People,”  had  made  to  the  poor 
mother  exactly  the  same  “inhuman  and  impious”  con- 
dition, as  she  calls  it  in  her  sad  letters;  these  men  of  the 
Renaissance  liked  to  have  security!  In  the  summer  of 
1510,  the  little  Federico  came  to  Rome  accordingly,  with 
a numerous  retinue,  of  whom  our  Grossino  was  one;  the 
young  prince  was  lodged  in  the  Belvedere,  near  the  Pope, 
and  no  pains  were  spared  that  he  should  receive  a most 
brilliant  education,  according  to  the  ideas  of  the  times.1 
He  did  not  see  his  parents  again  until  after  the  death  of 
Julius  II. 

The  Rovere  took  a great  liking  for  Federico.  He  sent 
for  him  to  Bologna,  and  had  him  there  for  some  months; 
and  Bibbiena  and  Molza  were  at  this  time  the  young 
captive’s  instructors.  At  Rome  the  Pope  took  him  out 
on  his  shooting  parties  and  excursions  into  the  country, 
had  him  recite  verses  at  meals,  and  played  with  him  at 
backgammon  (al  giuoco  di  triche-traché) , sometimes  until 
three  or  four  o’clock  in  the  morning.  He  regretted  that 
he  had  no  niece  whom  the  boy  might  marry  later.  “ His 

1 A very  singular  education,  however  ! See,  among  others,  the 
letter  of  Stazio  Gadio  to  the  Marchese  di  Gonzaga  (Jan.  ir,  1513; 
Luzio,  pp.  550,  551)  in  regard  to  a supper  presided  over  by  the 
Signora  Albina,  corte  sana  romana , at  which  Federico  was  present, 
at  the  time  scarcely  twelve  years  of  age. 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


252 

Holiness  says  that  he  will  have  Raffaello  make  the  por- 
trait of  signor  Federico  in  a room  where  he  himself  is 
depicted  life-size,  with  the  beard,”  1 writes  Grossino  on 
the  16th  of  August,  the  day  before  the  Pope’s  attack  of 
illness.  Julius  II.  had  never  been  a docile  and  patient 
invalid;  he  was  less  so  than  ever  during  this  attack  in 
August,  1511,  following  upon  so  many  and  such  heavy 
shocks.  He  raged,  he  swore;  he  spoke  of  pitching  out 
of  the  window  medicines  and  doctor,  ‘‘Jews,  maranes,  and 
miscreants.”  He  refused  to  eat,  and  grew  so  violent  that 
all  about  him  were  in  despair.  Only  the  boy  Federico 
could  pacify  him,  could  reason  with  him,  could  persuade 
him  to  take  a consumato  “ for  his  sake  and  for  the  sake 
of  our  Rady  of  Foretto. ” Sunt  lachrymce  rerum:  it  is  pa- 
thetic to  consider  this  pontefice  terribile , who  in  his  extreme 
anguish  believed  nothing  true  but  the  smile,  and  was 

1 The  fresco  of  the  Decretals.  This  fresco  having  been  painted 
some  time  after  the  School  of  Athe?is,  it  is  plainly  useless  to  seek 
the  boy’s  portrait  either  in  the  kneeling  child  of  the  group  sur- 
rounding Bramante  (as  Vasari  has  done),  or  in  the  boy  behind 
Averroés  (as  Cavalcasene  conjectures).  Manifestly  Julius  II.  did 
not  follow  up  the  suggestion  of  which  Grossino  speaks  in  his  letter 
of  August  16th  but  never  mentions  again  in  all  his  correspondence. 
It  is  certain,  on  the  contrary,  that,  at  the  request  of  Isabella  Gon- 
zaga, Raffaello  began,  in  January,  1513,  a portrait  in  oils  of  Feder- 
ico, in  the  costume  which  he  wore  on  the  occasion  of  the  opening 
of  the  Laterali  Council  ; but  on  the  19th  of  February  (Julius  II. 
was  then  in  his  last  hours, — he  died  on  the  21st)  the  painter  re- 
turned the  costume  to  Grossino,  and  excused  himself  from  going 
on  with  the  work,  “ not  having  now  the  head  (il  cervello ) for  it  ” 
(Luzio,  pp.  548-549).  It  appears,  however,  that  later,  Raffaello 
finished  the  portrait,  and  that  it  made  part  in  the  seventeenth 
century  of  the  collection  of  King  Charles  I.  of  England.  (See 
Cavalcasene,  Raffaello , voi.  ii.,  pp.  184,  185.) 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-15 12)  253 

influenced  by  nothing  but  the  persuasions,  of  a boy  of 
eleven,  his  prisoner,  his  hostage!  “At  Rome,”  writes 
Grossino  to  Isabella  Gonzaga,  August  23rd,  “everybody 
is  saying  that  if  the  Pope  recovers,  it  will  be  due  to 
signor  Federico.” 

He  did  recover.  On  the  30th  and  31st  of  August,  he 
was  able  to  hear  music  performed  in  his  bedroom  “ and 
enjoyed  it  as  never  before  in  his  life.”  He  gained 
strength  from  day  to  day, and  soon  the  cardinals  began  to 
tremble.1 2 * *  “They  began  dying  as  he  grew  well,”  wrote 
the  Venetian  prothonotary,  Lippomano;  but  neither  then 
nor  afterwards  — it  is  due  to  Julius  II.  to  say — did  he 
seek  out  the  authors  of  the  Capitoline  farce  or  think  of 
taking  revenge  upon  them.5  He  thought  only  of  his 
great  enterprise  against  Louis  XII.,  so  unluckily  post- 
poned by  his  illness  in  the  month  of  August;  at  last,  on 
the  5th  of  October,  he  was  able  to  celebrate  mass  in  per- 
son at  Santa  Maria  del  Popolo,  and  announce  the  forma- 
tion of  the  Holy  League.  The  League  declared  itself 
against  the  cojiciliabulum  of  Pisa,  and  engaged  to  restore 

1 The  following  is  an  extract  from  the  incredible  letter  addressed, 
September  7,  1511,  to  the  Marchesa  di  Mantua  by  Lodovico  Can- 
ossa, bishop  of  Tricarico:  “The  death  of  Pecotino  [a  little  dog 
which  the  bishop  had  given  to  Isabella]  has  grieved  me  much  ; I 
had,  however,  hoped,  since,  to  console  myself  by  the  death  of 
another  dog,  much  less  useful  to  the  world.  To-day  I am  all  the 
more  saddened  because  one  is  dead,  and  the  other  alive  ” (Luzio, 
pp.  527-528).  Lodovico  Canossa  is  one  of  the  principal  interlocu- 
tors in  the  Cortegiano  of  Castiglione. 

2 Even  Pompeo  Colonna  was  not  deprived  of  his  dignities  until 

shortly  before  the  death  of  Julius  II.,  and  then,  as  a result  of  new 

intrigues  and  bravados. 


254 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


to  the  Holy  See  all  places  belonging  to  it,  “ directly  or 
indirectly.”  The  treaty  received  the  full  signature  of 
the  Catholic  King  and  of  the  Republic  of  Saint  Mark; 
the  adhesion  of  the  King  of  England  was  secured;  and, 
as  a piquant  detail,  the  right  to  enter  the  new  alliance 
was  expressly  reserved  for  the  Emperor,  the  invaluable 
Maximilian,  who,  at  this  moment,  wTas  dreaming  of  as- 
suming the  triple  crown  himself!  Julius  II.  well  knew 
his  man:  “He  is  as  simple  as  a new-born  child,”  the 
Pope  had  said  of  him,  in  1509,  talking  with  the  Venetian 
ambassador. 

France,  invaded  on  the  south  by  the  Spaniards,  on  the 
north  by  the  English,  and  her  military  force  in  Italy 
crushed  under  the  simultaneous  attack  of  the  Swiss,  the 
Venetians,  the  troops  of  the  Pope,  and  those  of  the 
(Spanish)  Viceroy  of  Naples, — such  was  the  extremely 
captivating  picture  which  presented  itself  to  the  mind  of 
Julius  II.  in  this  month  of  October,  15 11 

The  opening  of  the  campaign  was,  however,  far  from 
being  in  accordance  with  his  expectations.  The  Swiss 
first  gave  him  the  slip,  as  the}r  had  done  in  the  preced- 
ing year,  notwithstanding  all  promises  given  and  earnest- 
money  received.  Coming  over  the  St.  Gothard  about  the 
middle  of  November  twenty  thousand  strong,  they  had 
advanced  unopposed  as  far  as  the  gates  of  Milan;  but 
here,  gained  by  French  gold,  they  alleged  a lack  of  can- 
non, pay  in  arrears,  the  frightful  state  of  the  roads,  the 
rigour  of  the  season;  and,  returning  by  the  way  of  Bellin- 
zona  (December  27th),  recrossed  the  Alps.  The  Vene- 
tians, on  their  part,  instead  of  making  all  speed  to  join  the 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-1512)  255 

Swiss  as  soon  as  the  latter  appeared  in  Lombardy,  lost 
precious  time  disputing  with  the  Imperialists  the  posses- 
sion of  some  paltry  places  in  the  Veronese.  Henry  VIII. 
of  England  repudiated,  it  is  true,  very  loudly,  the  concilia- 
bulum  of  Pisa,  and  declared  himself  to  have  a horror  of 
anything  which,  nearly  or  remotely,  resembled  schism 
(this  was  the  same  Henry  who  later — ■!).  Before,  how- 
ever, breaking  the  peace,  he  desired  to  receive  one  more 
payment  of  the  annual  pension  accorded  him  by  France 
in  virtue  of  the  treaty  of  Etaples.  And,  lastly,  Ferdi- 
nand the  Catholic  undertook  nothing  in  the  Pyrenees; 
and  Cardone,  his  lieutenant  in  Naples,  did  not  set  out 
till  January,  1512,  to  join  the  papal  troops  in  besieging 
Bentivoglio  in  Bologna.  The  horizon  darkened  more 
and  more  around  Julius  II.,  and  the  Romans,  always 
grumblers  and  fault-finders,  predicted  a French  revenge 
as  sure  to  come  in  the  spring. 

Louis  XII.  had,  in  truth,  played  a waiting  game,  during 
the  first  months  of  the  Holy  League;  and  in  December, 
1511,  he  had  preferred  to  use  gold  rather  than  steel  to 
send  the  Swiss  back  to  their  frontier  at  Bellinzona;  but 
this  did  not  mean  that  he  proposed  to  make  any  concession 
to  the  haughty  demands  of  a coalition  which  showed  itself 
in  so  little  hurry  to  act.  He  went  on  with  the  work  of 
his  Council  or  conciliabulum  ; he  coined  a medal  with 
the  ominous  legend:  Perdavi  Babylonis  nomen  ! and  he 
had  his  paid  writers  hard  at  work  to  influence  public 
opinion.  During  the  carnival  of  1512,  at  the  moment 
when  the  French  army  in  Italy  was  about  to  resume  the 
offensive  against  the  papal  troops,  the  Enfans  sans  souci 


256  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


greatly  diverted  the  Parisian  public  by  the  representation 
of  a Morality  having  for  title  l ' Homme  obstiné,  and  for 
author  Pierre  Gringoire,  pamphleteer  in  ordinary  to  his 
Most  Christian  Majesty.1  L'  Homme  obstiné  was  Julius 
II.,  introduced  in  person  upon  the  stage;  he  was  attended 
by  Simony  and  Hypocrisy,  while  Punishment  held  a 
thunderbolt  suspended  over  his  head.  On  the  great  stage 
of  the  war,  this  ròle  of  Punishment  fell  to  a new  actor,  a 
young  man  of  twenty-three  who  at  once  showed  himself  a 
hero,  and,  according  to  Guicciardini’s  brilliant  mot , “ was 
a great  general  before  ever  being  a soldier.”  Gaston 
de  Foix  did  not  wait  for  spring  before  raising  the  siege 
of  Bologna  (February  5,  1512),  inflicting  a terrible  ven- 
geance upon  revolted  Brescia  (March  19th),  and  triumph- 
ing and  dying  in  the  epic  da}^  of  Ravenna  (April  nth). 

Two  leagues  distant  from  the  old  capital  of  Theodoric 
and  Galla  Placidia,  in  a valley  through  which  flow  the 
sluggish  waters  of  the  Ronco,  a small  monument  which  is 
still  called  la  colonna  de'  Francesi , marks  the  scene  of  this 
memorable  battle,  the  most  sanguinary  that  Italy  had 
known  since  the  fall  of  the  Empire.  One-third  of  the 
victorious  army  and  two-thirds  of  the  vanquished  perished 
on  that  plain  on  Easter  Day,  1512.  It  is  said  that  at  a 
certain  moment  in  the  frightful  mélée , the  formidable 
artillery  of  the  Duke  of  Ferrara  was  playing  alike  upon 
French  and  Spaniards,  friends  and  foes,  and  that,  upon 
his  attention  being  called  to  the  fact,  this  valued  ally  of 

1 We  have  many  other  of  his  lucubrations  against  Julius  II.  ; one 
of  these,  dated  1510,  is  entitled  : The  Chase  of  the  Stag  of  Stags  ; 
alluding  to  the  well-known  formula  : Serous  Servorum  Dei. 


The  Prophet  Ezekiel  (Michelangelo) 
See  p.  303 


!•*  h:  and  tt 


ance 


■ G ringoi  re,  pamp! 
•n  Majesty.1  L' i 
i in  person  upon  th 


■ Gie  'Parisian  pi: 


wing  for  title 


^presentation 
'óstiné,  and  for 
rd inary  to  his 
'?né  was  Julius 
was  attended 


and  Hypocrisy,  , hment  held  a 

spended  over  his  h,‘  ; ùi  the  great  stage 
ròle  of  Puuishn.v  ’i  to  a new  actor,  a 
of  twenty-three  who  once  showed  himself  a 
rdiug  to  Guiccia/ : : -r>i Hint  mot,  “ was 

: Afore  ever  G :•*  soldier.”  Gaston 
de  Foix  did  not  ; for  spring  n raising  the  siege 
of  Bologna  (February  "...  <5!  ; -Ping  a terrible  ven- 

■ -nee  upon . revoi tc.i  lo ; all),  and  triumph- 

: I.  in  the  ti  K - 'aia  (April .nth). 

igueS  dista  t I'ru*  - o'  • ,-pital  of  Theodoric 
Placidia,  i:>  ...  - h which  flow  the 

,-rs  of  the  •,»  hi  monument  which  is 

t ■ . danna  c'i  / - o.  -.yrks  the  scene  of  this 

r'le,  the  n;-  ! mr  •:  .u  nary  that  Italy  had 
fall  or  t-  ■ r - third  of  the 

i two-th  1 i • ! ai  shed  perished 

. . Easter  Day,  ‘ ■ said  that  at  a 

' - formidable 

Duke  of  Ferra-  alike  upon 

Spaniards,  friends  and  - - n;d  that,  upon 

1 i ' ned  ally  of 

tiu  r of  his  lucubrations  a.;-. Inst  Julius  II.  ; one 
s entitled  : The  Cha>.~-  ,,f  th  Stag;  of  Stags  ; 
ling  to  the  w ell-known  formula  : Set  : u s St  t vofum  Dei. 


(oaaoHAjaHOiM)  jaiaasS  Tanaon4!  hhT 

C°r.  A 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-1512)  257 

Louis  XII.  replied:  “ No  matter;  the  enemy  is  quite  as 
much  on  one  side  as  the  other.”  Ariosto  visited  the 
battle-field  the  day  after  the  carnage:  “ I came  where  the 
fields  were  red  with  barbaric  and  Latin  blood, — I saw 
the  dead  lying  so  crowded  that  for  many  miles  one  could 
not  walk  without  stepping  upon  them.”  1 

The  flower  of  French  chivalry  was  mown  down  that  day 
by  death,  and  Gaston  de  Foix  among  the  number.  “ The 
King  gained  the  battle,  but  the  noblesse  of  France  lost 
it,”  Bayard  wrote  bitterly.  On  the  side  of  the  Holy 
League  almost  all  the  famous  captains  were  made  pris- 
oners: Fabrizio  Colonna,  Pedro  Navarro,  Juan  Cardone, 
Pignatelli,  Bitonto,  and  the  Marchese  di  Pescara — the 
husband  of  Vittoria  Colonna, — destined  himself  to  be  later 
the  conqueror  of  Francis  I.  at  Pavia.  Among  the  pris- 
oners were  also  the  new  legate  of  Romagna  (in  the  place 
of  Alidosi),  Cardinal  Giovanni  de’  Medici,  one  year  later 
to  be  known  as  Leo  X.  He  was  present  at  the  action  in 
his  priestly  attire,  mounted  on  a white  Turkish  horse:  it 
was  upon  this  same  horse  that  he  was  pleased  to  make  his 
famous  possesso  in  1513, 2 and  to  be  painted  thus  by  Raf- 
faello in  the  fresco  of  Attila. 

1 Eleg.,  ix.,  37-43: 

Io  venni  dove  le  campagne  rosse 
Eran  del  sangue  barbaro  e latino , 

Che  fiera  stella  dianzi  a furor  mosse  ; 

E vidi  un  morto  all ’ altro  sì  vicino , 

Che,  senza  premer  lor , quasi  il  terreno 
A molte  miglia  non  dava  il  cammino. 

5 The  possesso  is  the  Pope’s  going  in  state,  after  his  coronation  in 
St.  Peter’s,  to  take  possession  of  the  Lateran  Basilica,  the  seat  of 
the  Roman  episcopate.  The  possesso  of  1513  (on  the  4th  of  April, 
17 


258  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


At  Rome  the  alarm  was  indescribable;  the  cardinals 
went  in  a body  (April  4th)  to  implore  the  Pope,  upon 
their  knees,  to  accept  the  conditions  of  France.  “ His 
Holiness  has  done  much,”  they  said,  “ for  the  exaltation 
of  the  Church  and  the  liberty  of  Italy,  and  his  fame  will 
remain  imperishable.  But  in  this  pious  enterprise,  the 
will  of  God  has  been  contrary  to  him  and  has  manifested 
itself  by  signs  which  cannot  be  misunderstood.  To  per- 
severe longer  against  the  will  of  Heaven  would  be  to 
bring  about  the  total  ruin  of  the  Church.  It  belongs  to 
the  Ford  alone  to  take  care  of  His  Spouse;  may  his  Holi- 
ness, following  the  precepts  of  the  Gospel,  deign  to  put 
an  end  to  his  own  anguish  and  to  that  of  his  entire  court, 
which  desires  and  cries  out  for  peace  only.”  The  mem- 
bers of  the  Sacred  College,  continues  Guicciardini,  in- 
sisted also  upon  the  gravity  of  the  situation  at  home,  the 
increasing  turbulence  of  the  barons,  and  the  evil  disposi- 
tion of  the  populace,  growing  worse  day  by  day.  From 
the  middle  of  the  month  of  March,  in  fact,  the  Pope  had 
deemed  it  prudent  to  take  up  his  residence  in  the  castle 
of  Sant’  Angelo.  He  was  compelled  to  promise  that  he 
would  open  negotiations  with  the  Most  Christian  King: 
but  he  immediately  assured  the  envoys  of  Spain  and  of 
Venice  that  he  sought  only  to  gain  time,  and  should  re- 
main firmly  attached  to  the  League. 

It  was  but  a few  weeks  after  this  great  remonstrance 

the  first  anniversary  of  the  battle  of  Ravenna)  is  famous  on  account 
of  the  extraordinary  display  made  by  Leo  X.  The  Turkish  horse 
ridden  in  this  procession  reposed  forever  after  in  the  Pope’s  stables 
and  was  never  again  mounted.  (See  Cancellieri,  I possessi,  1513.) 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-1512)  259 

of  the  cardinals  that  Louis  XII.  liad  not  a single  village 
left  in  the  peninsula,  and  Julius  II.  assumed  the  title  of 
liberator  of  Italy.1  The  Obstinate  Man’s  grand  combina- 
tion, which  had  failed  so  notably  in  the  autumn  of  1511, 
had  had  wonderful  success  in  the  spring  of  the  following 
year.  Twenty  thousand  Swiss  again  came  down  from 
their  mountains,  but  this  time  into  the  territory  of  Ver- 
ona, far  from  the  tempting  gold  of  the  French,  and  into 
the  midst  of  Venetians,  eager  to  hurl  them  upon  the 
enemy  (May,  1512).  Not  to  be  cut  off  from  its  base  of 
operations  in  the  north,  the  army  of  Gaston  de  Foix,  now 
commanded  by  La  Palice,  was  obliged  in  all  haste  to 
abandon  Romagna  and  fall  back  into  Lombardy;  soon 
after  (in  June)  it  abandoned  in  turn  this  latter  province 
to  rush,  blindly  and  shattered,  to  the  defence  of  French 
soil,  invaded  in  Navarre  by  the  Spaniards  and  in  Nor- 
mandy and  Guienne  by  the  English.  “Since  France 
was  France,’’  wrote  at  this  time  De  Blois,  an  imperial 
agent,  to  Margaret,  Governess  of  the  Netherlands,  “never 
were  French  troops  so  amazed  : they  had  marvellous  great 
fear  of  destruction  if  the  Emperor  should  abandon  them.” 

The  sudden  and  complete  breaking  down  of  the  French 
power  in  Italy,  on  the  very  morrow  of  the  brilliant  victory 
at  Ravenna,  seemed  a kind  of  marvel  or  prodigy  and  made 
Paris  de  Grassis  think  about  the  Angel  of  the  Lord  who 
came  to  destroy  in  a night  the  whole  camp  of  Sennacherib, 
that  the  holy  city  might  be  preserved  from  ‘ ‘ the  arrows, 

1 His  omnibus  magna  felicitate  gestis,  Julius  pontifex  liberates 
a Gallis  Italics  nomen  prestulit  (Ciacouius,  Vitce  Pontificum,  voi. 
iii.,  p.  232). 


2ÓO 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


moats,  and  terraces  of  the  Assyrians.”  The  familiar 
Journal  of  the  master  of  ceremonies  at  the  Vatican  court 
is  here  valuable  testimony,  more  conclusive  in  my  judg- 
ment than  chronicles  and  panegyrics  of  the  epoch,  be- 
cause of  its  simplicity  and  spontaneousness.  The  curial 
recorder  who,  up  to  this  time,  has  solely  taken  note  of 
audiences,  functions,  and  official  solemnities,  and  passes 
silently  over  the  most  important  historic  facts, — the  in- 
sipid pedant,  who  knows  of  no  other  questions  than  those 
concerning  copes  and  rochets,  and  the  number  of  crosses 
and  candles  to  be  used  in  different  finizioni , — this  scribe 
of  the  protocol  and  inventory,  suddenly  changes  his  style, 
his  method,  his  nature,  when  he  reaches  the  chapter  De 
Gallis  expulsis.  He  exults,  he  triumphs;  he  utters  cries 
of  savage  joy  at  each  disaster  of  these  Gauls,  “ barbarians, 
profaners  of  the  temple,  scourges  of  Christendom  ” ; he  is 
never  done  about  the  uprisings,  the  rejoicing,  the  illum- 
inations, which  have  everywhere  marked  the  retreat  of 
Gaston’s  army.  For,  of  course,  with  all  these  disasters, 
France  instantly  lost  her  allies  in  the  peninsula;  Bologna 
once  again  expelled  the  Bentivogli,  after  having  so  many 
times  expelled  and  then  restored  them;  Milan  again 
welcomed  the  name  of  Sforza,  lately  so  abhorred;  and 
Genoa,  that  of  the  much-reviled  Fregoso.  “ And  it  is 
the  nature  of  this  people  of  Italy  thus  to  take  delight  in 
the  stronger ,”  Commynes  had  said,  the  great  judge  of  men 
and  of  nations,  who  had  been  dead  precisely  a year  at  this 
date.  Even  the  Duke  of  Ferrara  is  ready  with  his 
allegiance  to  the  stronger  : furnished  with  a safe-conduct 
he  went  (June  23rd)  to  seek  absolution  at  Rome. 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-1512)  261 


The  unexpected  presence  (July  4th)  in  the  Eternal  City 
of  him  who  had  been  excommunicated  since  1510,  did  not 
fail  to  produce  a lively  sensation,  and  to  keep  curiosity 
on  the  alert.  It  was  known  that  Alfonso  d’Este  was  one 
of  the  boldest  soldiers  of  the  time, — to  him,  even,  had 
been  attributed  the  honours  of  the  battle  at  Ravenna,1 — 
but  it  was  also  known  that  no  man  had  done  so  much  as 
he  to  draw  upon  himself  the  hatred  of  the  Rovere.  He 
was  the  son-in-law  of  Alexander  VI.,  was  under  the  pro- 
tection of  Louis  XII.,  and  for  two  years  had  had  his 
large  share  in  all  the  defeats  and  humiliations  of  the  Pope. 
Men  reminded  each  other  that  it  was  he  who  lately  had 
melted  down  the  statue  of  Julius  II.  at  Bologna,  the  work 
of  Michelangelo,  into  a huge  gun,  had  baptised  it  the 
Giulia , and  had  placed  it  at  the  entrance  of  his  castle  in 
Ferrara.  Accordingly,  the  Romans  promised  themselves 
an  altogether  extraordinary  spectacle,  on  the  day  of  the 
Duke’s  absolution;  he  was  to  be  scourged,  it  was  said, 
before  the  door  of  the  Basilica,  kneeling,  a rope  round  his 
neck,  clad  in  the  penitent’s  shirt.  But  the  crowd  which, 
from  early  morning  (July  9th)  had  filled  the  vast  piazza  di 

'In  the  famous  strophe  upon  this  battle  ( Orlando  furioso,  iii . , 
55),  Ariosto  does  not  even  mention  the  name  of  Gaston  de  Foix, 
attributing  the  victory  solely  to  Alfonso  d ’Este  : 

Costui  sarà,  col  senno  e colla  lancia, 

Ch'  avrà  l'onor,  nei  campi  di  Romagna, 

D'aver  dato  all ' esercito  di  Francia 
La  gran  vittoria  contra  Giulio  e Spagna. 

Nuoteranno  i destrier  fin  alla  pancia 
Nel  sangue  uman  per  tutta  la  campagna  : 

Ch'  a seppellire  il popol  verrà  manco 
Tedesco,  Ispano,  Greco , Italo  e Franco. 


2Ò2 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


San  Pietro,  was  cruelly  disappointed  in  its  expectations; 
the  ceremony  took  place  within  the  palace,  with  closed 
doors,  and  in  the  mildest  form  which  was  possible.  The 
political  question  was  more  difficult  to  settle,  for  Julius  II. 
would  abate  nothing  from  the  rights  of  the  Holy  See  over 
the  Ferrarese  territory:  “ I have  given  the  Duke  a safe- 
conduct  for  himself,  but  not  for  his  States,”  he  said  to  the 
Venetian  envoy,  Foscari.  A commission  of  six  cardinals 
was  appointed  to  treat  upon  this  delicate  point  with  Al- 
fonso d’Este;  meanwhile  the  latter  occupied  his  leisure, 
or  beguiled  his  anxiety,  by  examining  the  curiosities  of 
the  city — among  other  things  ‘‘the  rooms  of  Pope  Alexan- 
der, which  are  all  very  handsome,”  and  were  doubtless  of 
special  interest  to  the  husband  of  Lucrezia  Borgia.  He 
also  went  one  day  with  the  Pope’s  permission  (and  it  is 
Grossino  again  who  gives  us  this  interesting  detail)  to 
visit  the  Sistine  Chapel,  and  “ the  lord  duke  remained  a 
long  time  upon  the  scaffolding,  conversing  with  Michel- 
angelo, and  could  not  satisfjr  his  eyes  with  gazing  at  the 
figures.”  1 It  would  be  most  interesting  to  know  upon 
what  subjects  the  two  conversed,  in  this  long  interview! 
Did  the  gruff  artist  ask  the  illustrious  visitor  about  his  big 
gun,  the  Giulia  ? 

1 Luzio,  pp.  540,  541.  Grossino  goes  on  to  say  : II  signor  Federico 
[who  accompanied  his  uncle,  Alfonso  d’Este,  in  this  excursion]  see- 
ing that  his  Excellency  remained  above  so  long,  took  the  Duke’s 
gentlemen  meantime  to  see  the  Pope’s  rooms,  and  those  which 
Raffaello  da  Urbino  is  painting.”  This  makes  a distinction  between 
the  apartment  in  which  Julius  II.  lived  and  the  Stanze.  From  the 
general  tenor  of  the  valuable  correspondence  edited  by  Luzio  it 
appears  that  Julius  II.  lived  in  the  Belvedere,  and  occasionally  in 
Sant’  Angelo. 


The  World's  Game  (1509-1512)  263 

At  the  end  of  two  weeks  Alfonso  d’Este  suddenly  took 
fright  and  fled  from  Rome,  protected  by  the  Colonna 
princes  (July  19th).  He  asserted  that  the  Pope  had  de- 
signs upon  his  liberty,  which  Julius  II.  always  denied; 
but  after  an  act  like  this,  further  aggravated  by  the  Co- 
lonna intervention,  the  pontiff  had  no  further  considera- 
tion for  the  man  whose  cruel,  implacable  heart  he  now  so 
well  understood.1  We  have  no  exact  knowledge  what 
the  fugitive  did  during  the  three  months  that  followed  his 
escape,  or  by  what  roads  he  returned  into  his  States;  a 
letter  from  Ariosto,  his  companion,  tells  us  only  that,  the 
first  of  October,  he  was  hidden  somewhere  in  the  neigh- 

1 In  the  letter  in  cipher,  written  by  the  Duke  to  his  brother,  the 
famous  Cardinal  Ippolito,  two  days  before  his  flight  from  Rome 
and  giving  hint  of  it  already,  there  is  not  the  slightest  suggestion 
of  threatened  liberty.  Alfonso  speaks  only  of  the  exorbitant  ter- 
ritorial requisitions  of  the  Pope,  and  of  his  demand  that  Ferrante 
should  be  given  up  to  him.  Ferrante  was  the  hapless  young  ille- 
gitimate brother  whose  eyes  the  Cardinal  had  caused  to  be  put  out, 
because  they  had  been  too  much  praised  by  a lady  of  the  palace  to 
whom  the  Cardinal  himself  was  paying  court.  The  blinded  youth 
sought  revenge,  conspired,  was  seized  and  imprisoned  (with  another 
brother  also)  in  the  donjon  of  the  ducal  palace.  Julius  II.,  Fer- 
rante’s  godfather,  demanded  liberty  for  the  young  man,  and  that 
he  should  be  allowed  to  come  to  Rome  to  live.  “I  will  give  up 
neither  Ferrara  nor  Ferrante,”  writes  Alfonso,  July  17,  1512  (Cap- 
pelli, Lettere  di  Lodovico  Ariosto , Milan,  1887,  p.  cxiv.).  On  the 
other  side,  Catanei,  writing  to  the  Marquis  of  Mantua,  July  27th, 
gives  this  account  of  the  Pope’s  words  at  an  audience  which  had 
been  granted  him  : “ Had  I wished  to  seize  him  [Alfonso  d’Este] 
who  is  there  that  could  have  prevented  it?  If  we  could  not  come 
to  an  agreement,  it  was  my  will  to  send  him  back  to  Bologna,  and 
thence  to  Ferrara.  The  first  thing  that  I asked  of  him  was  to  give 
me  his  brothers  ; it  was  believed  by  some  that  they  were  already 
dead  [that  Alfonso  had  already  put  them  to  death]  . . .”  Luzio, 

P-  541- 


264  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


bourhood  of  Florence.  The  lively  and  brilliant  singer 
“ of  ladies  and  knights,  of  arms  and  of  amours,”  decid- 
edly had  bad  luck  with  the  great  Ligurian  Pope.  Ariosto 
had  been  sent  to  the  papal  court  repeatedly  in  1509  and 
1510,  in  the  interests  of  Duke  Alfonso  and  of  his  brother, 
Cardinal  Ippolito,  but  neither  the  causes  nor  the  persons 
in  whose  behalf  he  pleaded  were  of  a nature  to  win  the 
favour  of  the  Rovere;  finally  it  was  signified  to  the  poet 
one  day  (August,  1510),  that  he  must  depart  without  de- 
lay, under  penalty  of  being  cast  into  the  Tiber.1  Return- 
ing two  years  later  to  the  inhospitable  banks  of  this  river 
in  attendance  upon  his  master  seeking  absolution,  he  was 
obliged  to  accompany  the  Duke  in  his  precipitate  flight, 
and  share  the  perils  mentioned  in  the  poet’s  curious 
letter  of  October  1,  1512,  to  Prince  Luigi  Gonzaga:  “ I 
have  come  out  of  dens  and  thickets,  and  am  again  in  hu- 
man surroundings.  Of  the  dangers  incurred  I cannot  yet 
speak  : animus  meminisse  horret  luduque  refugit.  As  for 
me,  I have  not  recovered  from  my  fears,  being  all  the 
time  tracked  and  eagerly  pursued  by  spies,  from  whom 
God  preserve  me!  I have  just  passed  the  night  in  a place 
of  refuge  near  Florence  with  the  noble  mask  ( col  nobile 
mascherato'),  my  ear  on  the  alert,  my  heart  beating  vio- 
lently.” 2 The  Duke  was  still  wearing  his  disguise 

1 Letter  of  Cardinal  Ippolito,  dated  Massa,  Aug.  31,  1210  : Il  mio 
gentilhomo  (Ariosto)  non  solamente  pottete  avere  gratia  o conclu- 
sione alcuna  da  stia  Santità,  ma  fu  minazato  d'essere  butato  in 
fiume  se  non  se  le  toleva  denante.  (Campori,  Notizie  per  la  vita  di 
Ariosto,  Modena,  1871,  p.  43.)  On  the  different  missions  of  the 
poet  to  Julius  II.,  see  Cappelli,  loc.  tit.,  p.  xxxvii.  et  seq. 

2 Letters  of  Ariosto,  ed.  Cappelli,  18S7,  p.  23. 


The  Libyan  Sibyl  (Michelangelo) 
See  p.  jio 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


264 

>J  lliant  siuger 

f iaiuc;  i.-id  knights,  of  ar  .aaours,”  decid- 

with  they;  • ’-Pope.  Ariosto 
i:,v  io  the  pat  ; • ly  in  1509  and 

• of  his  brother, 
nor  the  persons 
, nature  to  win  the 

;■  nied  to  the  poet 
: 'epart  without  de- 
alt- a:  * -■.%  ' 'fthe  Tiber.1  Return- 

; , ; •;  oiks  of  this  river 

* c • absolution,  he  was 
recapitate  flight, 
i i * the  poet’s  curious 
ritto  Luigi  Gonzaga:  “ I 
■•in  again  in  hu- 
,:rs  incurred  X cannot  yet 
, 1, ue  njugit.  As  for 

fears,  being  all  the 
v,v\  T.  pursued  by  spies,  from  whom 
i,-e  • , cast  passed  the  night  in  a place 

i!  the  noble  mask  {col  nobile 
ii,  ,r  or.  t •:  alert,  my  heart  beating  vio- 
C n.is  still  wearing  his  disguise 

~ l rdir  ai  : ■.  i ited  Massa,  Aug.  31,  1210:  Il  mio 

• ; Ariv  . nun  "■  ni.-  pottete  averi  gratia  0 concia- 

lo »i  inazato  et  essere  butato  in 
•1!  (Camporf,  Notizie  per  la  vita  di 

- 1 he  different  missions  of  the 

riosto,  1 If  7.  p.  23. 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-1512)  265 

when  he  arrived  in  Ferrara  (October  14th).  He  there 
learned  that  the  troops  of  the  Holy  See  had  in  the 
meantime  seized  the  larger  part  of  his  territory;  nothing 
remained  to  him  but  his  capital,  with  Comacchio  and 
Argenta. 

More  fortunate  than  the  Duke  of  Ferrara,  Maximilian, 
the  other  ally  of  Douis  XII.,  had  easily  succeeded  in  mak- 
ing his  peace  with  the  Pope.  From  May  17th  he  was 
virtually  one  of  the  members  of  the  Holy  Deague,  and 
hence  shared  in  a hostility  more  or  less  open  towards  the 
Most  Christian  King.  The  Pope  was  extremely  indulgent 
and  complaisant  towards  the  Emperor,  not  even  hesitating 
to  sacrifice  Venetian  interests  to  him,  and  adjudge  to  him 
many  places  on  the  Venetian  mainland.  Julius  II.  was 
perfectly  aware  what  a fascination  the  word  “ Emperor” 
still  exercised  over  men’s  minds,  and  especially  how  need- 
ful that  name  would  be  for  success  in  the  Dateran  Council  ; 
for  the  Rovere  had  faithfully  kept  the  pledge  given  to  the 
Christian  world  the  previous  year,  and  the  battle  of  Ra- 
venna had  only  retarded  for  three  weeks  the  solemn  open- 
ing of  this  great  oecumenical  assembly,  promised  by  the  bull 
Sacrosanctce  for  the  spring  of  1512.  Gathered,  however, 
in  the  midst  of  the  general  political  storm,  whose  ravages 
extended  to  the  very  gates  of  Rome, — gathered  outside  of 
France  and  Germany  and  in  hostility  to  these  two  Pow- 
ers, the  august  assembly  of  the  Lateran  was  composed 
almost  exclusively  of  Italian  prelates,  and  could  scarcely 
assume  to  represent  the  universal  Church.  The  situation 
changed  materially  when  the  Emperor  Maximilian  de- 
clared himself  willing  to  become  a member  of  the  Holy 


206 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


League;  the  same  day  (May  19th),  the  Council,  which 
had  gone  no  further  than  its  second  session,  was  declared 
prorogued  till  the  month  of  November,  in  order  to  give 
time  for  the  “ transmontane  and  transmarine”  members 
to  arrive,  and  by  early  autumn  the  synod  of  Julius  II. 
had  already  been  recognised  by  all  the  Catholic  countries 
except  France.  Spain,  England,  Scotland,  Poland, 
Hungary,  Norway,  Denmark,  and  the  lesser  Powers 
had  successively  signified  adhesion  and  obedience  ; 
Matthew  Dang,  bishop  of  Gurk,  was  the  last  to  pre- 
sent himself,  representing  Germany  and  the  Emperor 
Maximilian. 

The  bishop  of  Gurk — il  Gicrcense,  as  the  Italians  called 
him — was  the  great  curiosity  of  Rome  in  the  month  of 
November,  as  Duke  Alfonso  of  Ferrara  had  been  in  July. 
Minister  and  negotiator-in-chief  of  Maximilian  for  the 
affairs  of  the  peninsula,  Matthew  Lang  had  already  made 
himself  known  in  Italy  by  a hauteur  and  pride  which 
often  amounted  to  insolence.  The  preceding  year  at 
Bologna  he  had  declared  it  beneath  his  dignity  to  meet 
with  a commission  of  cardinals;  representing,  he  said,  the 
most  august  sovereign  in  the  world,  he  could  treat  only 
with  the  Vicar  of  Christ  in  person,  in  whose  presence  he 
proposed  to  remain  seated  and  with  head  covered;  and  he 
had  returned  to  Mantua  without  taking  leave  of  the  Pope: 
Barbarus  est , barbare  egit,  wrote  Paris  de  Grassis,  in  his 
private  Journal.  The  bishop  now  came  to  Rome  to 
make,  in  his  Emperor’s  name,  amende  honorable  for  much 
past  boasting  and  disrespect;  and  Julius  II.  found  it 
piquant  to  lavish  upon  this  ambassador,  so  infatuated 


The  World's  Game  (1509-15 12)  267 

with  his  own  importance,  honours  “really  princely.”1 
He  received  him  seated  on  the  throne,  in  full  consistory; 
he  created  him  cardinal,  indulged  him  in  the  whim  of  re- 
taining his  shocking  costume  of  Teutonic  knight  during 
the  greatest  solemnities,  to  the  profound  consternation  of 
the  master  of  ceremonies  and  of  many  church  dignitaries. 
Poets  and  rhetoricians  vied  with  each  other  in  celebrating 
the  presence  of  il  Gurcense  in  the  Eternal  City;  there 
were  illuminations  and  popular  rejoicings,  feasts  and  ban- 
quets with  spectacles  and  interludes  varied  and  brilliant. 

“Yesterday,”  wrote  Stazio  Gadio,  on  the  nth  of  No- 
vember to  the  Marquis  of  Mantua,  “ during  the  dinner  of 
his  Holiness,  a play  was  represented  in  which  appeared 
Apollo  and  the  Muses,  singing  the  praises  of  the  Pope, 
the  Emperor,  and  il  Gicrcense.  Then  his  Holiness  and 
the  ambassador  crowned  two  poets,  one  a Parmesan,  the 
other  a Roman.  An  educated  blind  man  {imo  cieco  dotto') 
also  sang  Latin  verses  with  an  accompaniment  of  the 
lyre.”  . . . Involuntarily  one  thinks  of  Homer  in  the 
Parnasstis  of  the  Vatican  Stanza.  Many  people  felt  that 
the  Rovere  went  too  far  in  this  complaisance  towards 
“ the  barbarian,”  the  son  of  an  Augsburg  burgher;  but 
before  long  the  reward  of  all  his  amiability  appeared,  and 
every  one  was  obliged  to  acknowledge  it  to  be  splendid. 
It  was  on  the  3rd  of  December  that  the  Council  resumed 
in  thè  Basilica  of  S.  John  Lateran  its  work,  interrupted 
since  the  month  of  May.  The  Pope,  the  cardinals,  the 

1 Pierius  Valerianus,  De  honoribus  . . . Gurcensi  Urbem 

ingredienti  haóetis,  Ap.  Freher,  Per.  Germ,  Script.,  voi.  ii. , p. 
293  et  seq. 


268  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


seventy-two  bishops,  and  ‘ ‘ the  orators  ’ ’ of  the  Powers, 
were  all  present.  Upon  the  ambo  appeared  Fedra  Inghi- 
rami,  of  formidable  bulk  and  intelligent  face.  With  that 
ringing  and  musical  voice  which  Erasmus  of  Rotterdam 
had  so  greatly  admired,  the  Pope’s  librarian,  who  was 
also  the  secretary  of  the  oecumenical  synod,  read  aloud  a 
letter  wherein  the  Emperor  declared  his  full  and  entire 
adhesion  to  the  Eateran  Council,  and  his  formal  con- 
demnation of  the  conciliabula  arranged  by  France  at  Tours 
and  at  Pisa;  the  good  Maximilian  said  his  mea  calpa , and 
smote  upon  the  breast  of  his  accomplice  of  yesterday. 
Matthew  Rang  at  once  arose  and  amplified  upon  the  pali- 
node of  his  august  master.  The  effect  was  immense;  the 
whole  assembly  was  carried  away  with  enthusiasm  and 
intoned  the  Te  Deum , the  song  of  joy  and  victory.  It 
was,  in  fact,  the  most  brilliant  victory  that  the  papacy 
had  gained  since  the  time  of  Innocent  III. 

The  Vatican  Stanze  give  us  three  portraits  of  the 
Ligurian  Pope,  all  executed  in  the  last  twenty  months  of 
his  reign.  In  the  fresco  of  the  Decretals  Raffaello  repre- 
sents Julius  II.  immediately  after  his  return  to  Rome  in 
July,  15 1 1 ; and  the  sad,  crushed  look  of  “ the  man  in  the 
cloak  ” tells  us  clearly  that  it  is  the  morrow  of  the  catas- 
trophe of  Bologna,  and  of  the  outrageous  challenge  of 
Pisa.  The  Mass  of  Bolsena  shows  us  the  head  of  the  Holy 
League,  still  grave  and  full  of  care,  but  already  rising 
above  adversity,  confident  of  the  justice  of  his  cause, 
saluting  upon  his  knees  a great  miracle  which  is  per- 
formed under  his  eyes;  and  it  is  not  without  intention 
(nor  unnoticed  by  Maecenas)  that  the  painter  has  placed 


The  World’s  Game  (1509-1512)  269 

behind  the  pontiff  his  Swiss  Guards,  those  sons  of  Hel- 
vetia who  were  the  true  saviours  of  the  Holy  See  after  the 
battle  of  Ravenna:  Defensores  ecclesiastica  liberta tis,  — such 
is  the  title  that  a brief  dated  July  12,  1512,  confers  upon 
them  for  all  time.  Finally,  the  fresco  of  Heliodorus 
shows  us  the  Rovere  in  full  strength  and  power;  his 
look  is  masterful,  his  gesture  imperious;  he  seems  to  be 
borne  in  triumph  upon  the  sedia  gestatoria  for  the  Te 
Deum  of  the  Rateran.  He  has  crushed  the  schism  of 
Pisa;  he  has  compelled  the  recognition  of  his  Rateran 
Council  ; he  has  delivered  Italy,  and  driven  ‘ ‘ the  bar- 
barians ” across  the  Alps;  he  has  regained  the  Patrimony 
of  S.  Peter,  has  first  chastened,  then  preserved— -percussit 
ac  sanavit — the  Republic  of  S.  Mark;  he  has  restored  the 
Medici  to  Florence  and  the  Sforze  to  Milan;  he  is  indeed 
“ the  lord  and  master  of  this  world' s game.''’1 


CHAPTER  XIV 


UNDER  THE  SISTINE  VAULT  (1508-15I1) 

I 

The  well-known  sonnet  addressed  by  Michelangelo  to 
one  Giovanni  da  Pistoja1— a melancholy  grotesque — marks 
a day  of  vexation  and  discouragement;  and  many  of  these 
days  the  painter  knew  under  the  vault  of  the  Sistine 
Chapel.  He  began  by  a quarrel  with  Bramante,  on  the 
subject  of  an  unlucky  scaffolding  which  the  great  archi- 
tect had  devised  and  set  up  for  him;  this  the  painter 
quickly  condemned,  and  replaced  by  an  entirely  new  and 
singularly  ingenious  construction.  “ Michelangelo  re- 
quired a complete  deck  the  size  of  the  chapel,  about 
which  he  could  move  freely;  and  as  the  windows  were 
below  its  level,  he  had  to  provide  for  the  passage  of  light, 
and  for  the  temporary  removal  of  part  of  the  deck,  to  allow 
him  to  examine  his  work  from  the  chapel  floor.3 

Scarcely  was  he  installed  in  his  hanging  studio  (Octo- 
ber, 1508),  when  he  came  near  abandoning  the  work  com- 
pletely; an  unaccountable  dampness  came  out  of  the 
plaster  upon  which  he  painted,  and  he  at  once  fell  into 

1 Rime  di  Michelangelo,  ed.  Guasti,  p.  158.  The  sonnet  in 
autograph  has  been  preserved  ; on  the  margin  is  a sketch  repre- 
senting a man  painting  a ceiling,  from  which  he  hangs  suspended 
by  ropes. 

2 Heath  Wilson,  Life  of  Michelangelo , p.  119. 


270 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  271 


despair.  He  hastened  to  the  Pope:  “ Your  Holiness  sees 
that  I am  not  made  for  this  art!  ” The  Pope  despatched 
to  the  spot  Sangallo  the  architect,  who  at  once  perceived 
that  the  excessive  moisture  of  the  plaster  was  the  cause 
of  the  difficulty.  Was  it  in  consequence  of  this  accident 
that  Buonarroti  became  disaffected  towards  his  Tuscan 
frescanti  ? He  had  summoned  to  Rome  a group  of  Flor- 
entine artists,  men  more  or  less  renowned, — Granaccio,  an 
early  friend,  Bugiardini,  Jacopo  di  Sandro,  Jacopo  l’In- 
daco, Agnolo  di  Donnino,  Aristotile, — and  had  signed 
formal  agreements  with  them:  they  were  to  aid  him  with 
their  experience  in  mural  painting,  and  share  with  him  in 
the  projected  work.  Men  of  great  genius  seem  sometimes 
to  be  singularly  simple-minded;  certainly  there  was  an 
instance  of  this  when  Michelangelo  for  a moment  believed 
that  his  art,  or  his  character,  rendered  possible  any  col- 
laboration whatsoever.  One  morning  (January,  1509), 
the  frescanti  found  the  chapel  closed;  closed,  also,  the 
dwelling  of  the  master;  and  they  sagaciously  concluded 
that  there  was  nothing  else  for  them  but  to  return  to 
Florence.1 

1 Mr.  Heath  Wilson  (p.  155  et  seq .)  is,  however,  quite  unable  to 
believe  that  the  immense  labour  of  the  Sistine  ceiling  could  have 
been  completed  by  one  man  in  the  space  of  four  years  : he  sup- 
poses that  after  this  first  misadventure  Michelangelo  must  have 
obtained  the  help  of  other  artists  more  obscure  and  less  antipathetic. 
But  Buonarroti’s  correspondence  makes  not  the  faintest  allusion 
to  anything  of  this  kind,  while  there  is  frequent  reference  to  the 
affair  of  Granaccio  and  the  rest.  And  however  humble  in  the  be- 
ginning these  supposed  collaborators  may  have  been,  they  would 
not  have  remained  unknown  after  the  immense  fame  of  the  Sistine 
paintings  became  a fact.  The  execution  of  such  a task  by  a man 


2-2 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


Henceforth  the  master  renounces  all  aid  and  assistance, 
and  devotes  himself  to  his  task,  with  that  mixture  of 
ardour  and  discouragement  which  makes  this  period  of  his 
life  a spectacle  so  singular  and  so  pathetic.  He  begins  at 
the  end.  at  the  Deluge,  working  in  an  inverse  order  to 
that  which  the  spectator  now  follows  in  looking  at  the 
ceiling.  He  goes  from  south  to  north,  from  the  chapel 
entrance  to  its  opposite  extremity,  where  stands  the  altar. 
He  advances  by  sections,  by  wide  strips,  each  containing 
a part  of  the  ceiling  and  with  it  the  adjacent  parts  of  the 
two  lateral  slopes : : and,  as  he  thus  advances  in  the 
work,  his  art  grows  bolder  and  throws  off  all  restraint:  in 
the  whole  vast  composition  there  is  nothing  — even  to  the 
decorative  figures,  tranquil  and  symmetrical  at  first — 
which  does  not  finally  awaken  to  life  and  motion,  to  the 
expression  of  passionate  feeling,  to  the  most  strenuous 
muscular  effort. 


working  alone,  in  a space  of  time  comparatively  brief,  is  extra- 
ordinary. without  doubt  : but  the  man  himself  was  extraordinary, 
and  his  letters  during  this  time  testify  to  the  marvellous  energy 
he  was  able  to  put  forth.  It  will  be,  of  course,  understood  that 
the  master  always  had  with  him  in  the  Sistina  garzoni  in  sufficient 
number  three  or  four,  I suppose  to  prepare  his  plaster,  grind  his 
colours,  etc. 

See.  or.  this  subject,  the  fine  study  of  H.  Wolfiin,  in  Janitschek's 
Repertoire,  voi.  xiii.,  p.  26 4,  etseq.  By  a common  mistake.  Michel- 
angelo is  represented  as  executing  erst  the  historic  subjects  of  the 
ceiling,  then  the  Prophets  ani  Sibyls  of  the  lateral  slopes,  and 
lastly  the  decorative  figures  : hut  these  three  classes  of  subjects  he 
painted  simultaneously,  in  sections.  Only  the  Ancestors  of  Christ. 
in  the  lunettes  and  tympana  of  the  windows,  were  executed 
separately,  and  this  after  the  completion  of  the  vault,  properly 
so-called. 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  273 

It  is  interesting,  also,  to  notice  that  the  prophetic  design 
for  the  tomb  of  Julius  II.  still  haunts  the  painter  and  fur- 
nishes him  with  many  a theme  for  the  vault:  the  con- 
structive arrangement  of  the  entablature  all  around  the 
ceiling,  the  distribution  of  surfaces  by  means  of  projecting 
pilasters  and  niches,  with  putti  serving  as  caryatides, 
etc.,  are  the  same  here  as  in  the  famous  sketch  of  the 
sepoltura  which  is  preserved  in  the  Cabinet  of  Designs  in 
the  Uffizi.1  As  to  the  frescante' s technique,  so  hard  at 
first  to  acquire,  Buonarroti  is  not  slow  in  gaining  it  and 
using  it  with  unequalled  mastery.  With  all  its  incessant 
alternations  in  light  and  shade,  his  painting  presents  a 
harmony  in  colour,  a beautiful  and  tranquil  ensemble , that 
we  do  not  always  find  in  the  Stanza  of  the  Segnatura,  or 
in  that  of  Heliodorus. 

At  the  end  of  three  years  of  eager,  feverish  labour, — of 
which  a very  clear  impression  is  given  by  the  sonnet  to 
Giovanni  da  Pistoja  and  by  a few  letters  which  Michel- 
angelo addressed  to  his  own  family, — the  vault,  properly 
so  called,  was  nearly  completed;  it  remained  only  to  paint 
the  lunettes  and  tympana  of  the  windows  (the  Ancestors 
of  Christ).  It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  catastrophe  of 
Bologna  brought  Julius  II.  abruptly  back  to  Rome  (June 
27,  1511),  after  an  absence  of  ten  months.  Neither 
yesterday’s  disasters  nor  to-morrow’s  perils  hindered  the 
Rovere  from  occupying  himself  immediately  with  his 
various  artistic  enterprises.  In  July  he  posed  to  Raffaello 
for  his  portrait  in  the  last  fresco  of  that  Camera  della 

1 Uffizi,  Cabinet  of  Designs,  No.  608  (first  scheme  for  the  monu- 
ment of  Julius  II). 

18 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


274 

Segnatura  whose  splendours  he  was  eager  to  show  to  the 
world.  Could  the  Sistine  Chapel  also  be  opened  to  the 
public  ? — opened,  at  least,  for  a few  days,  and  on  occasion 
of  a great  function  ? That  Michelangelo,  with  what  we 
know  of  his  temper,  should  have  yielded  to  the  Pope’s 
wish  and  taken  down  the  “ deck,”  which  he  would  again 
need  for  the  completion  of  his  work,  may  well  surprise  us. 
It  is  possible  that  he  dared  not  refuse  a last  gratification 
to  the  worn  old  man  who  seemed  to  be  nearing  his  end; 
perhaps,  also,  a secret  desire  to  outshine  “ the  Urbinate  ” 
and  his  Camera,  had  something  to  do  with  this  conde- 
scension. However,  the  fact  stands  that  on  the  15th  of 
August,  1511,  Paris  de  Grassis  could  note  in  his  Journal  : 
“ Vigil  and  festa  of  the  Assumption  of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 
The  Pope  was  present  at  vespers  and  at  high  mass  cele- 
brated in  the  great  palatine  chapel.  For  this  chapel  is 
dedicated  to  the  Assumption,  and  the  Pope  visited  it  de- 
votionally  as  well  as  to  see  the  paintings  recently  un- 
covered.” The  following  day,  all  Rome  crowded  into  the 
palatine  chapel.1 

1 M.  Eugène  Muntz  is  the  first  person  who  has  called  attention 
to  the  two  following  passages  in  the  Journal  of  Paris  de  Grassis, 
relating  to  the  paintings  of  the  Sistine  vault  : 1.  In  Vigilia  et  Die 
assomptionis  1511.  Pontifex  venit  ad  Capellam  . . . ut picturas 
novas  ibidem  noviter  detectas  viderei.  2.  In  Vigilia  00.  sanctorum 
iji2.  Hodie  primum  Capella  nostra  pingi  finita  aperta  est. 
Thus  the  first,  and  partial , unveiling  of  Michelangelo’s  frescos 
took  place  in  the  week  of  the  Assumption,  1511,  a little  more  than 
three  years  from  the  time  when  the  cartoons  for  the  ceiling  were 
begun  ; and  the  final  opening  of  the  chapel,  a year  later,  in  the 
week  of  All  Saints’  Day  (1512).  These  two  dates,  so  precise  and 
authentic,  from  the  master  of  ceremonies  of  the  papal  Court, 
ought,  in  my  judgment,  to  put  an  end  to  all  the  confused  accounts 


The  Prophet  Daniel  (Michelangelo) 

See  p.  J05 


show  to  the 
filed  to  the 
■ >n  occasion 
what  we 
the  Pope’s 
vould  again 
fll  surprise  us. 
it  gratification 
tring  his  end; 
; he  Urbinate  ” 


.uh  this  conde- 

on  the  15  th  of 

his  Journal: 

ased  Virgin. 

r n se;  : • 

i si  mass  cele- 

.*  g real  pa  ! 

this  chapel  is 

lire  Assui 

iai  ted  it  de- 

'S well  as 

cently  un- 

ed  into  the 

ticrl  attention 

is  de  Grassis, 

■ Vigìlia  et  Die 

ut  picturas 

nor  ■ s 1 idem  now'/- 

unctorum 

ijitj.  Hodie  p>  - 

r parta  est. 

Thu-  the  first,  ir;«  \ 

. o’s  frescos 

took  place  in  the  wr<  1 .•  j 

more,  than 

three  \ • its  from  . • • •••  - - 

ing  were 

begun  ; and  the  fitui:  ■ -1 

r,  in  the 

week  of  All  . . .ts’ 

; . fise  and 

authentic,  f ;u  the  r ••  (* 

1 Court, 

ought,  in  my  juh.  : - i_  • »«i 

: iccounts 

(oJHOMAJHHQiM)  JHIVIACI  T3HTOH1  HhT 

A 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  275 

That  which,  it  seems  to  me,  must  have  been  the  first 
thing  in  this  immense  composition  to  strike  these  earliest 
visitors  was  the  employment  of  the  human  figure  for  pur- 
poses as  manifold  as  they  were  dissimilar.  This  world  of 
Michelangelo  recognised  but  one  kingdom,  the  human,  to 
the  exclusion  of  all  the  other  kingdoms  of  nature;  man 
here  absorbs  into  himself  and  takes  the  place  of  all  the 
other  phenomena  of  the  world.  Neither  sky,  nor  horizon, 
nor  landscape,  nor  edifice  is  here:  only  the  human  figure 
in  every  colour — flesh  tints,  bronze,  or  camaieu, — and  in 
every  form:  here,  incarnation  of  the  most  transcendent 

given  on  this  subject  by  various  authors,  both  ancient  and  modern, 
from  Vasari  and  Condivi  to  Heath  Wilson,  Springer,  and  Wolfiin, 
Carl  Frey  alone  excepted.  It  is  also  in  accordance  with  these  two 
dates  that  we  must  set  right  the  conjectural  chronology  of  Milanesi 
for  many  letters  of  Michelangelo  relating  to  the  Sistine.  The  one, 
notably  (p.  23),  addressed  by  the  painter  to  his  father,  in  which  he 
says  that  he  has  finished  the  chapel  and  that  he  shall  not  come 
home  for  All  Saints'  Day , cannot  manifestly  be  of  the  year  1509, 
but  belongs  to  October,  1512. 

The  question  recurs — what  part  of  the  frescos  was  finished,  at 
the  time  when  they  were  first  shown,  in  1511?  Common  sense  at 
once  suggests  that  the  part  upon  which  the  painter  had  been 
at  work  for  three  years  and  a half  must  be  much  the  more  import- 
ant than  that  which  was,  after  this,  completed  in  the  space  of  a 
year  or  thirteen  mouths.  Michelangelo  himself  says,  in  his  famous 
letter  to  Fattucci  (ed.  Milanesi,  p.  426  seq.),  that,  at  the  time  when, 
to  obtain  money,  he  sought  the  Pope  in  the  midst  of  his  army  at 
Bologna  (late  September,  15x0),  la  volta  era  quasi  finita , and  that 
on  his  return  to  Rome  he  began  making  the  cartoons  per  le  teste , 
e le  facde  attorno  di  detta  capella  di  Sisto.  These  last  words  can 
apply  to  nothing  else  but  the  lunettes  and  tympana  of  the  windows  : 
it  was  a part  distinct  from  the  vault  itself, — a part  for  which,  before 
1511,  he  had  not  even  made  the  cartoons.  It  will  later  appear  that 
this  part  (the  Ancestors  of  Christ)  differs  essentially,  in  style  and  in 
execution  from  all  the  rest  of  the  work. 


276  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


ideas;  there,  a mere  theme  for  bracket  and  pedestal,  a 
pretext  for  ornament  and  arabesque;  man,  as  God  in  the 
Jehovah,  as  spirit  in  the  Prophets  and  Sibyls,  as  hero  in 
the  Biblical  personages,  as  plant  in  the  colossi  climbing 
and  clinging  along  the  arches  of  the  windows,  as  stone  in 
the  pzitti  in  flat  tints  and  the  child-caryatides,  as  hooks  in 
the  igmidi,  from  whose  hands  hang  garlands  with  medal- 
lions. To  Buonarroti,  the  human  figure  was  always  the 
absolute  form,  and  the  sole  means  of  expression  in  all 
things  and  in  every  occurrence. 

Not  less  extraordinary  in  this  painting  and  even  more 
bewildering,  if  possible,  must  have  appeared  the  evident 
intention  of  avoiding  the  entire  sum  of  types,  symbols, 
emblems,  and  conventions  of  Christian  art,  as  it  had  de- 
veloped through  a long  series  of  generations  and  under 
the  hand  of  so  many  illustrious  masters.  Here  were  an- 
gels without  wings,  saints  without  halos,  God  the  Father 
without  crown  or  globe,  fantastic  draperies  which  were 
neither  the  ideal  costume,  nor  3^et  the  realistic  clothing 
of  the  earlier  schools.  Michelangelo  renounced  entirely 
the  great  heritage  of  the  past:  the  precious  store  of  be- 
liefs, legends,  and  imager}'  amassed  by  the  centuries  were 
to  him  as  if  they  were  not;  he  sought  his  inspirations 
and  his  models  'outside  of  the  domain  which  had  been 
explored  by  his  predecessors,  in  regions  unknown  and 
vague,  and  inaugurated  an  art  which  defied  all  established 
customs,  all  received  ideas,  all  consecrated  traditions. 
An  art  strange,  haughty,  and  arbitrary,  completely  set- 
ting aside  beauty  and  grace  and  charm,  concerning  itself 
only  with  the  colossal,  the  emotional,  and  the  nude!  This 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  277 

predilection  for  the  nude  goes  so  far  as  to  deny  the  exiled 
pair  their  fig-leaf  aprons.  The  colossal  characterises  not 
only  prophets  and  heroes,  but,  no  less,  figures  of  secondary 
importance  or  even  purely  decorative.  Little  connection 
can  be  traced,  generally  speaking,  between  the  emotional 
bearing  or  gesture  of  the  personages,  and  their  character  or 
function.  Why,  for  example,  this  displeased  air  of  Ezek- 
iel, this  impetuous  and  impossible  aspect  of  the  Libyan 
Sibyl  ? Why  this  tension,  this  contortion  of  the  superb 
youths  with  their  Herculean  limbs,  the  ignudi,  whose  sole 
effort  is  to  hold  up  the  end  of  a garland  ? A Mantegna  and 
a Raffael’o  would  have  employed  for  this  purpose  grace- 
ful little  genii;  a painter  of  classic  date  beautiful  young 
girls  with  long  hair.  Putti , to  support  enormous  marble 
architraves;  athletes,  to  hold  garlands; — was  this  not  a 
challenge  to  common  sense  ? And  the  drapery  too,  which 
so  rarely  follows  the  lines  or  movement  of  the  body;  so 
often,  on  the  same  figure,  is  here  drawn  tight,  there  puffed 
out  by  the  wind,  now  clinging,  now  flying  wide!  Most 
of  these  giants,  sitting  so  strangely  curled  up  or  crouch- 
ing, keep  their  place,  preserve  their  balance,  only  by  the 
boldest  of  fictions,  and  were  they  to  rise  to  their  nearly 
eighteen  feet  of  height,  would  bring  confusion  and  wreck 
into  their  architectural  surroundings. 

Moreover,  no  consideration  at  all  for  the  spectator;  no 
care  to  give  him  any  point  of  general  effect,  or  to  bring 
near  to  him  by  any  foreshortening  a painting  so  far  above 
his  head,  and  in  many  details  1 so  entirely  beyond  the 

1 Notwithstanding  all  his  enthusiasm  for  the  paintings  of  the 
volta,  Vasari  does  not  fail  to  slip  in  a discreet  criticism  of  the 


278  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


naked  eye!  Instead,  a distribution,  no  less  unusual 
than  eccentric,  of  the  space  by  means  of  a simulated  archi- 
tecture, and  with  it  an  imaginative  decoration, — both 
adding  materially  to  the  already  very  great  disturbance  of 
the  senses.  The  historic  scenes  appear  horizontally  on 
the  ceiling,  on  an  unequal  scale  of  size,  separated  among 
themselves  by  the  surbased  arches  of  some  hypaethral 
temple,  adorned  with  panting,  polychrome  statues.  The 
isolated  colossi  on  the  slopes  of  the  vault  are  housed  in  a 
monotonous  succession  of  niches,  whose  caryatides,  repre- 
sented by  twenty-four  couples  of  chubby  children,  form  the 
strangest  incongruity  with  the  massive,  heavy  entablature 
which  is  supposed  to  rest  upon  their  shoulders.  In  con- 
clusion, how  overwhelming  the  show  of  human  figures; 
what  vast  profusion  of  putti  and  ignudi  ; what  disregard 
of  the  golden  rule  of  the  classic  world,  that  we  must  sow 
by  handfuls  and  not  by  sackfuls  ! 

X.Eipi  fir)  6vAaix&>  6it£ip£iv.  . . . 

Thus  brought  abruptly  (and  just  from  the  Segnatura, 
besides!)  into  the  presence  of  this  work  of  Buonarroti,  the 
visitors  to  the  Vatican  Chapel  in  the  month  of  August, 
15 1 1,  would  have  been  very  excusable,  certainly,  had  they 

absence  of  prospettive  che  scortino  and  the  lack  of  veduta  firma. 
Bramante  had,  very  early,  said  to  Julius  II.  that  Buonarroti  did  not 
know  how  to  execute  figures  that  were  to  be  seen  from  below  and 
foreshortened  ( figure  alte  e in  iscorcio),  “ which  is  quite  another 
thing  from  painting  on  a level  ( dipingere  in  terra)."  See  Ros- 
selli’s  very  curious  letter  to  Michelangelo,  May  5,  1506  (Gotti, 
Vita , voi.  i.,  p.  46).  Buonarroti  could  without  doubt  have  executed 
foreshortened  figures  quite  as  well  as  a Mantegna  cr  a Melozzo  : 
but  he  scorned  the  illusion,  his  instinct  as  a sculptor  opposing  it. 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  279 

made  resistance,  hardened  themselves  against  it,  cried 
Anathema  ! — What  they  did  do  was  to  cry  : “ O miracle  ! ’ ’ 
and  Raffaello  was  not  behind  the  rest  in  his  devotions. 
He  declared  his  thanks  to  God  that  he  lived  in  the  time 
of  a Michelangelo,  and  began  at  once  to  follow  in  his  foot- 
steps in  the  second  of  the  Stanze.  The  truth  is,  in  this 
immortal  work  there  was  a power,  a fascination  entirely 
irresistible.  Every  man  instinctively  felt  that  it  was 
puerile  to  attempt  to  use  a measuring-line  for  the  im- 
measurable, and  to  demand  from  the  Infinite  its  final 
causes.  From  the  height  of  this  vault,  as  from  a second 
burning  bush,  the  Mind — the  creator-genius —spoke  with 
a voice  of  thunder,  the  voice  of  Mount  Horeb:  Sum  qui 
sum  ! 

Some  present  heard  in  it  also  a voice  from  the  other 
world,  the  voice  of  Savonarola  1 ; and  they  were  not  far 
wrong  in  this. 

In  looking  over  the  various  and  shapeless  collections  of 
Savonarola’s  discourses,  one  is  surprised  to  see  the  great 
place  which  the  Old  Testament  occupied  in  the  preaching 
of  the  famous  Dominican.  Two  or  three  fragments  only 
have  inscriptions  from  the  Gospels;  for  the  rest  of  the 
sermons,  text  and  title  are  always  taken  from  the  books 
of  the  Jews:  there  is  a series  on  Genesis;  another,  on 
Noah’s  Ark;  another,  upon  the  Prophets,  from  Isaiah, 
Jeremiah,  and  Ezekiel,  to  Zechariah  and  Jonah.  No 
Christian  orator  of  the  Middle  Ages,  no  mystic  of  the 

1 Savonarola , al  quale  egli  [Michelangelo]  ha  sempre  avuta 
grande  affezione , restandogli  ancor  nella  mente  la  memoria  della 
sua  viva  voce. — Condivi,  e.  lv. 


28o  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


centuries  preceding,  has  been  so  deeply  penetrated,  so 
dominated,  so  led  astray  by  the  Hebraic  inspiration;  in 
the  acts  and  words  of  the  great  saint  of  Assisi  there  is 
not  the  faintest  trace  of  a kindred  inspiration.  And  the 
God  of  whom  Fra  Girolamo  called  himself  the  messen- 
ger was  an  unknown  divinity  to  the  gentle  Francis,  a 
God  angry  and  terrible,  with  his  avenging  sword  already 
threatening  the  world — gladius  Domini  super  terrain  cito 
et  velociterà  This  was  an  eloquence  which  could  not  seek 
its  model  in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount;  rather  we  find  its 
type  in  the  Tevitical  imprecations  on  Mount  Ebal!  “ Old 
Testament  history  proves  to  us  the  necessity  of  an  ap- 
proaching chastisement,”  Savonarola  declared  in  his 
sermon  on  Habakkuk. 

From  this  Old  Testament  Fra  Girolamo  drew  all  his 
rhetoric;  he  also  drew  from  it  his  political  ideas  and  senti- 
ments. To  him  the  ideal  government  was  Judea  in  the 
time  of  Samuel,  Judea  before  the  institution  of  a monarchy. 
“ The  people  of  Israel  were  governed  then  as  are  the 
people  of  Florence  now:  they  had  neither  king  nor  tem- 
poral prince.  God  sent  them  a prophet,  whom  they  called 
judge,  who  had  no  authority  or  power  over  the  people, 
either  of  life  and  death  or  to  give  sentence  in  any  mat- 
ter whatsoever.  But  they  asked  counsel  from  him,  and 
the  judge,  having  prayed  to  God,  gave  answer  as  he  was 
inspired  by  the  Deity.  When  they  obeyed  the  voice  of 

1 A sentence  often  repeated  by  Savonarola.  In  his  Compendium 
Revelationis,  he  says  of  it  : “ These  words  are  not  taken  from  the 
Holy  Scriptures,  as  has  been  supposed,  but  have  recently  come  from 
Heaven." 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  281 


God,  they  prospered;  when  disobedient,  they  incurred 
great  dangers.  . . . Thy  government,  O Florence, 

is  like  that  of  the  judge  in  Israel.”  (Sermon  for  the  last 
day  of  Advent,  1494.) 

It  was  the  great  originality — the  great  fatality,  also — 
of  the  prior  of  Saint  Mark’s,  that  he  felt  himself  called  to 
continue  the  race  of  judges  and  seers  of  God’s  people. 
In  a treatise  entitled  De  veritate  prophetica,  he  seeks  to 
demonstrate  that  God  can  still,  as  in  ancient  Judea,  send 
prophets  upon  earth,  and  that  he  himself,  Savonarola, 
is  one  of  these  elect.  He  appeals  constantly  to  his  pre- 
dictions as  having  been  always  fulhlled;  and  he  establishes 
a mysterious  and  sometimes  very  specious  connection  be- 
tween the  march  of  events  and  that  of  his  homilies. 
11  One  thing,”  he  says  ingenuously,  in  his  Compendium 
revelationis, — ‘‘one  thing  among  others  strikes  with  ad- 
miration men  the  most  distinguished  by  their  intelligence 
and  learning.  From  the  year  1491  to  1494, 1 had  preached 
every  Advent  and  every  Lent  on  the  book  of  Genesis,  tak- 
ing it  up  at  each  time  where  I had  left  off  before;  I could 
not,  however,  reach  the  chapter  on  the  Deluge  until  the 
tribulations  had  come.”  On  the  coming  of  “ the  tribula- 
tions,” that  is  to  say,  when  Charles  VIII.  ’s  descent  into 
Italy  was  announced,  he  began  at  last,  in  the  Lent  of  1494, 
upon  this  chapter  concerning  the  Deluge,  preaching  a 
series  of  sermons  of  which  thirteen  have  come  down  to  us. 
He  proposed  to  construct  a refuge  for  those  who  were 
worthy  to  be  saved, — a Noah’s  Ark, — an  ark  of  Christian 
virtues.  Each  day  he  added  “ a new  plank,”  a new  vir- 
tue, to  his  mystic  construction,  which  was  ready  on  Easter 


282 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


Day.  “ Let  each  hasten  to  enter  the  ark  of  the  Lord;  the 
door  is  still  open,  but  soon  it  will  be  too  late.” 

Nothing  is  more  simple  and  more  impressive  than  the 
story  of  this  Lent  of  the  year  1494,  as  related  in  the  con- 
temporary chronicle  of  Cerretani:  “ He  preached  in  the 
church  of  Santa  Reparata  [the  Cathedral];  and  when,  at 
the  moment  the  King  of  France  entered  the  city,  he  an- 
nounced that  the  ark  was  closed,  the  whole  assembly  amid 
terror  and  dismay  and  outcries  went  out  into  the  streets, 
and  wandered  up  and  down,  silent  and  half-dead.” 

Is  it  by  accident,  merely,  that  upon  the  Sistine  ceiling 
we  find  the  same  great  themes,  Genesis,  Noah’s  Ark, 
the  Prophets  of  Israel,  with  which  the  fiery  eloquence  of 
Fra  Girolamo  had  stirred  the  men  of  Florence,  among 
them,  the  young  Buonarroti,  in  the  years  between  1491 
and  1496  ? And  how  ‘‘the  elective  affinity  ” between  these 
two  grand  and  gloomjr  natures  becomes  more  than  ever 
apparent  when  we  consider  Michelangelo’s  work  in  its  vast 
range!  How  the  infrequent  representations  of  Christ  and 
the  Madonna  are  lost  and  disappear  in  the  multitude,  sculp- 
tured or  painted,  of  Jewish  patriarchs,  prophets,  heroes, — 
from  Adam,  Moses,  and  David,  down  to  the  line  of  Jesse’s 
descendants!  This  book  cf  the  Jews,  which  the  magni- 
ficent school  of  Giotto,  faithful  in  this  to  its  origin  at  As- 
sisi, has  almost  never  touched,— in  which  the  realists  of 
the  century  succeeding  found  chief!  y material  for  genre  and 
idyllic  painting, — this  book  animates  and  fills  all  Buona- 
rotti’s  religious  art;  it  gives  him  his  most  pathetic  nar- 
ratives, his  most  tragic  and  formidable  personages;  it 
eclipses  from  his  view  the  Gospel  ! The  Sistiue  vault 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  283 

speaks  to  you  of  the  Fall,  the  Deluge,  the  brazen  serpent, 
the  death  of  Goliath,  the  punishment  of  Hainan,  the  venge- 
ance of  Judith;  it  does  not  speak  to  you,  nor  will  any  of 
Michelangelo’s  works  speak  to  you,  of  the  Annunciation, 
the  Visitation,  the  Nativity,  the  Woman  of  Samaria,  the 
Magdalen,  the  Parables,  the  Lord’s  Supper,  the  disciple 
“ w'hom  Jesus  loved, ”• — those  visions  of  grace  and  loveli- 
ness which  cradled  the  souls  of  the  Italian  painters  from 
Cimabue  to  Raffaello. 

Classic  antiquity  and  the  sacred  books  of  the  Jews 
were  the  two  great  sources  of  Buonarroti’s  inspiration,  the 
former  for  his  profane,  the  latter  for  his  religious  art.  He 
saw  antiquity  in  the  Laocoon  and  the  Torso ; he  read  the 
Old  Testament  in  Savonarola’s  version  and  by  the  light  of 
the  martyr’s  pyre.  He  created  the  Allegories  of  the  Med- 
ici chapel,  and  the  Genesis  and  the  Prophets  of  the  chapel 
of  the  Rovere;  the  Christ  he  usually  cannot  depict,  but 
at  once  and  for  all  time  he  fixed  the  artistic  type  of  the 
Jehovah.1 

11 

The  palatine  chapel  of  the  Vatican  still  has  the  same 
general  aspect  that  it  had  in  the  time  of  its  founder,  Sixtus 
IV.:  making  exception  of  Michelangelo’s  colossal  work, 
everything  in  it  bears  the  imprint  of  a definite  period  in 

1 Vasari  relates  that  in  his  time  the  Jews  in  Rome,  both  men  and 
women,  were  wont  on  Saturdays  to  make  a pilgrimage  to  San 
Pietro  in  Vincoli  to  pray  before  the  statue  of  Moses.  Had  not  the 
truth  of  this  story  been  gravely  questioned  by  Bottari  and  Cancel- 
lini, it  would  be  an  interesting  trait  to  add  to  the  Jehovite  charac- 
ter of  Buonarroti’s  religious  art. 


284  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


the  Quattrocento,  namely,  the  years  1480-1483.  The  so- 
briety natural  to  Roman  architecture  of  this  epoch  amounts 
to  an  extreme  aridity  in  the  construction  of  Giovannino 
de  Dolci, — a vast  rectangular  nave,  where  neither  profile 
nor  projection  of  any  kind  occurs  to  catch  the  eye.  The 
long  vault  entirely  lacks  articulation  and  relief;  the  pave- 
ment of  opus  Alexandrinum  is  likewise  very  simple  in 
what  remains  of  the  original  work,  and  letters  and  crosses 
on  many  of  the  squares  betray  the  unscrupulous  use  made  of 
the  fragments  of  Christian  tombs  that  at  that  time  strewed 
the  Vatican  hill.  The  marble  tribune  for  the  singers,  at  the 
south-west  angle  of  the  choir,  is  by  no  means  imposing 
nor  is  the  great  balustrade  which,  with  its  eight  pillars 
having  gilded  capitals  and  candelabra,  shuts  off  this  choir, 
crossing  the  whole  width  of  the  nave.  A monotonous  and 
almost  monochrome  decoration  simulates,  on  the  immense 
lateral  walls,  hangings  of  gold  and  silver  brocade,  sepa- 
rated by  semblances  of  pilasters.  But  all  this  poverty  is 
amply  redeemed  by  a continuous  suite  of  frescos  above, 
under  the  windows,  like  a majestic  frieze  with  resplendent 
metopes.  The  collective  work  of  Botticelli,  Cosimo  Ro- 
selli,  Ghirlandajo,  Signorelli,  Perugino,  and  Pinturicchio 
— this  cycle  of  paintings  may  be  said  to  sum  up  the  art  of 
the  Tuscan  and  Umbrian  masters  at  its  final  development, 
and  on  the  eve  of  the  high  Renaissance. 

The  cycle  represents  the  chief  events  in  the  lives  of 
Moses  and  of  Jesus,  each  episode  from  the  Pentateuch 
having  its  pendant  or  its  contrast  in  one  from  the  Gos- 
pel. To  the  baptism  in  blood  by  Zipporah,  corresponds, 
on  the  opposite  wall,  the  baptism  in  water  by  John  the 


The  Delphic  Sibyl  (Michelangelo) 

See  p.  jo6 


* 1 .nee 

3 . The  so- 
•>>eh  amounts 
Giovannino 
ther  profile 
: eye.  The 
. T;  the  pave- 
simple  in 
and  crosses 
use  made  of 
cime  strewed 
-,  gers,  at  the 
uis  imposing 
ight  pillars 
this  choir, 
otonousand 
iie  immense 
.rocade,  sepa- 
lis  poverty  is 
'Cos  above, 
ch  esplendent 
sii,  Cosimo  Ro- 
. ’ Pinturicchio 
..a  up  the  art  of 
development, 

. in  the  lives  of 
Pentateuch 
hi  the  Gos- 
;r  responds, 

(oaao/iAjaHDiM  ) jyaig  om'uaQ  hhT  John  the 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  285 

Baptist;  to  the  appearance  of  Jehovah  in  the  burning 
bush  in  the  wilderness,  Satan’s  temptation  of  Christ  in 
the  wilderness;  to  the  calling  of  the  people  of  God  on  their 
passage  through  the  Red  Sea,  the  calling  of  the  first  dis- 
ciples on  the  shores  of  the  Sea  of  Galilee.  Farther  on,  the 
Legislation  of  Sinai  has  for  contrast  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount;  the  giving  of  the  keys  to  Saint  Peter  is  the  pen- 
dant to  the  sin  and  punishment  of  Korah  and  his  followers; 
the  Last  Supper  of  the  Lord  corresponds  to  the  last  in- 
junctions of  Moses.  ' 

Mediaeval  art  constantly  made  itself  the  interpreter  of 
these  typological  associations  and  relations  which  the 
Church  has  so  delighted  to  establish  between  the  Old 
Covenant  and  the  New,  between  the  Promise  and  the 
Fulfilment, — between,  for  instance,  the  Sacrifice  of  Abra- 
ham and  the  Passion;  or  the  miracle  of  Jonah  and  the 
Resurrection;  or  the  Offering  of  Abel  and  the  Mass. 
But  nowhere  has  this  parallelism  appeared  so  systematic, 
so  inventive  and  even  refined,  as  in  the  Sistine  frieze;  and 
it  is  perhaps  permissible  to  recognise  in  this  the  personal 
and  direct  suggestion  of  the  first  Ligurian  Pope, — a great 
theologian,  as  is  well  known,  and  author  of  a book  entitled 
De  sanguine  Christi,  one  of  the  subtlest  and  most  scho- 
lastic treatises  of  the  age.  As  to  the  much  more  original 
and  hitherto  unprecedented  idea  of  calling  together  the 

1 The  series  originally  was  continued  on  the  north  and  south 
walls.  On  the  north,  where  is  now  the  Last  Judgment,  were  seen, 
on  each  side  of  a great  Assunta,  Moses  in  the  Bulrushes  and  the 
Nativity  ; and  on  the  south  the  Resurrection,  and  the  Dispute  of 
the  Archangel  Michael  with  Satan  for  the  body  of  Moses.  (Epistle 
of  S.  Jude,  verse  9.) 


286 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


greatest  painters  of  the  time  to  work  jointly  in  the  pro- 
duction of  a majestic  whole  whose  parts  were  to  be  logic- 
ally bound  together, — a truly  Roman  and  centralising  idea, 
Catholic  in  the  literal  sense  of  the  word,  and  well  worthy 
of  a Maecenas-pontiff, — it  has  been  agreed  that  the  honour 
of  this  is  due  to  the  nephew  of  Sixtus,  at  that  time  Car- 
dinal Giuliano  della  Rovere,  and  its  date  has  been 
generally  fixed  at  the  period  (January,  1481)  when  the 
Cardinal  visited  Florence.1 

When  this  papal  nephew,  twenty-three  years  later, 
himself  became  Pope,  he  at  once  desired  to  complete  a 
decoration  so  brilliantly  begun,  and  the  tyrannical  press- 
ure that  he  brought  to  bear  to  this  end  upon  the  recal- 
citrant genius  of  Buonarroti  is  matter  of  history.  The 
painter,  however,  was  able  at  least  to  obtain  the  advantage 
of  making  his  own  selection  of  subjects  for  the  painting 
of  the  vault.  It  was  the  intention  of  Julius  II.  to  have 
the  Twelve  Apostles;  to  him  the  Acts  seemed  the  appro 
priate  complements  of  the  Pentateuch  and  Gospels,  which 
were  already  the  theme  of  the  frieze;  and  in  the  famous 
arazzi  for  the  chapel,2  Raffaello  showed  later  of  what  ele- 
vation and  splendour  and  richness  this  theme  of  the 
Apostles  was  capable.  But  nothing  could  be  more  char- 
acteristic than  that  Michelangelo  should  find  the  project 

' Schmarsow,  Melozzo  da  Forlì , p.  2x0. — The  vault  of  the  Sistine 
Chapel,  before  Michelangelo,  was  painted  blue  with  stars  of  gold, 
as  appears  from  a drawing  preserved  in  the  Uffizi  (No.  7 1 r ) , which 
is  of  the  time  of  Giuliano  di  Sangallo. 

2 These  arazzi  decorated  the  Sistine  until  the  sack  of  Rome  in 
1527.  Ten  out  of  the  eleven  are  now  exhibited  in  a long  corri- 
dor of  the  Vatican. 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  287 

of  Julius  II.  “very  poor,”  1 and  that,  being  at  last  left 
free  to  follow  his  own  ideas,  he  should  at  once  go  back  to 
Genesis  and  the  Liber  generationis  ! 2 He  formed  the  de- 
sign of  painting  upon  the  ceiling  a history  of  the  creation, 
and  placing  on  the  coving  the  Prophets  and  the  Ances- 
tors of  Christ:  a cosmogony  and  a theogony  most  stately  ; 
a magnificent  preface  to  the  life  of  Moses  and  the  life  of 
Jesus  in  the  cycle  beneath;  moreover,  a truly  new  inter- 
pretation of  the  Old  Testament,  the  Jewish  Scriptures, 
whose  sombre  horizons  and  sublime  terrors  one  may  say 
that  it  for  the  first  time  revealed. 

To  the  predecessors  of  Michelangelo,  in  fact,  the  Bible 
had  been  chiefly  a charming  collection  of  wonderful 
stories,  a real  novellino,  whose  narratives,  always  so  va- 
ried, often  so  naive  and  sometimes  so  profane,  gave  them 
a welcome  repose  after  the  great  gospel  epic,  with  its 
pathetic  and  tragic  scenes.  Follow  these  narratives,  as 
they  are  detailed  at  length,  from  the  fifth  century  to  the 
fifteenth,  in  the  mosaics  of  Santa  Maria  Maggiore,  of 
Monreale,  of  the  atrio  of  S.  Mark’s,  and  later,  the  frescos 


'“According  to  the  first  project,  I was  to  execute  the  Twelve 
Apostles  in  the  lunettes,  and  fill  the  rest  of  the  space  with  the 
usual  ornaments.  In  thinking  of  this  work,  it  appeared  to  me, 
however,  and  I said  this  at  once  to  the  Pope,  that  it  would  never 
be  more  than  a very  poor  thing."  (Michelangelo  to  Fattucci, 
Lettere  di  Michelangelo , ed.  Milanesi,  p.  427.)  Wolflin  finds  this 
“ first  project,”  in  a pen-and-ink  drawing,  preserved  in  the  British 
Museum.  Jahrbuch  preussischer  Kunstsammlungen,  voi.  iii. , p. 
178  et  seq. 

2 Liber  generationis  Jesu  Christi  filii  David,  filii  Abraham. 
Abraham genuit  Isaac,  Isaac autem genuit  Jacob,  etc.,  etc.  ( Evang . 
secundum  S.  Mattliczum  i.,  1 el  seq. 


288 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


of  Cimabue  in  the  upper  church  at  Assisi,  of  Paolo  Uccello 
in  the  chiostro  verde  of  Florence,  of  Pietro  di  Puccio  and 
Benozzo  Gozzoli  in  the  Campo  Santo  at  Pisa:  for  the  most 
part  these  are  nothing  more  than  genre  pictures,  scenes 
of  home  life,  a familiar  and  anecdotic  history  of  Jewish 
patriarchs  and  heroes.  The  episodes  most  unedifying  in 
all  the  Jewish  canon  are  reproduced  deliberately,  frankly, 
by  these  mediaeval  artists  who  are  not  willing  to  omit 
anything  from  a text  so  interesting,  and  make  it  a point  to 
illustrate  it  chapter  by  chapter,  and  verse  by  verse.  They 
do  this  with  extreme  freedom,  often  with  a remarkable 
raciness  and  inventive  faculty,  and  thus,  unconsciously, 
secularise  more  and  more  the  Hebrew  Scriptures;  one 
would  scarcely  suspect  a pupil  of  Fra  Angelico’s  in  the 
lively  painter  of  the  Vergognosa , the  Vintage  of  Noah , 
the  Marriage  of  facob,  and  other  frescos  of  the  Pisan 
cemetery.  In  this  direction,  also,  as  in  so  many  others, 
Perugino’s  immortal  pupil  was  destined  (about  1519)  to 
sum  up  the  labour  of  the  early  masters,  the  efforts  of  the 
ages  past,  and  give  it  harmonious  and  supreme  expres- 
sion. A series  of  exquisite  idyls  drawn  from  the  Old 
Testament,  some  fifty  coloured  vignettes,  full  of  grace, 
freshness,  and  elegance, — this,  in  the  loggie  of  the  third 
story  of  the  Vatican,  forms  the  famous  decoration  which, 
by  common  consent,  has  been  called  Raffaello' s Bible. 

Quite  different  is  Buonarroti’s  Bible  in  the  palatine 
chapel.  Idyl  and  genre  are  cast  far  from  it;  the  novellino 
has  given  place  to  a grand  religious  drama,  a great  Mys- 
tery animated  by  the  breath  of  Savonarola.  This  Mystery 
embraces  both  heaven  and  earth,  and  gives,  so  to  speak, 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  289 

an  abridgment  of  sacred  history  in  a series  of  scenes,  of 
visions,  from  the  first  day  of  creation  to  the  Word  made 
Flesh,  from  Jehovah  to  Jesus. 

The  First  Day  of  the  world  inspired  a picture  of  unex- 
ampled daring:  for  what  is  bolder  than  an  effort  to  repre- 
sent the  void,  to  make  visible  the  darkness  upon  the  face 
of  the  waters?  “The  subject  carries  us  back  of  crea- 
tion. The  world,  as  yet,  is  not;  more  than  that,  neither 
time  nor  space  has  begun  to  be.  From  the  thick  dark- 
ness, dense  and  wan  like  a heavy  fog,  rises  a solitary  figure 
with  a sort  of  sublime  terror,  as  if  amazed  at  the  solitude. 
A head  and  shoulders,  an  arm;  that  is  all.  God  arises 
out  of  the  chaos;  He  has  ascended  from  depths  of  in- 
finitude, traversing  the  waves  of  silence;  He  emerges 
upon  the  surface  of  the  darkness;  He  looks  about  Him, 
and  makes  ready  to  speak  the  Fiat  lux  ! ” 1 

The  next  scene  represents  God  in  all  the  impetuosity 
and  in  all  the  ubiquity  of  His  creative  power:  He  extends 
His  arms,  and  the  two  great  lights  shine  in  the  firmament; 
He  lowers  His  hand,  and  the  earth  brings  forth  grass,  and 
the  tree  yielding  fruit.  He  is  at  once  near,  and  far  away: 
in  the  same  scene  we  see  Him  facing  us  and  turned  away 
from  us;  at  the  right,  He  appears  in  the  plenitude  and 
definiteness  of  His  sovereign  presence,  while  at  the  left 
He  disappears,  extremely  foreshortened,  in  a far-extended 
whirlwind.  The  attendant  angels  themselves  fall  back, 
dazzled  and  dismayed  in  the  presence  of  this  sudden  out- 
burst of  divine  omnipotence.  This  is  indeed  Jehovah,  as 

1 Émile  Montégut,  Philosophie  de  la  Sixtine  ( Revue  des  Deux 
Mondes,  15  Février,  1870). 

r9 


290 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


the  Hebrew  prophets  saw  Him  and  described  Him;  but 
this  is  also  the  Word,  as  Goethe’s  Faust  will  later  strive 
to  interpret  Him:  “ The  Word  ? say  rather  the  Thought, 
or,  better  still,  the  Power;  or,  best  of  all,  the  Act!  ” 

Thought,  power,  and  will, — all  this  is  legible  in  the 
splendid  figure,  the  most  august  representation  of  the 
Eternal  Father  ever  reached  by  art,  and  to  which  one  is 
tempted  to  apply  the  grand  saying  of  an  ancient  author 
concerning  the  Pheidian  Zeus,  “ whose  beauty  seems  to 
have  added  something  to  received  religion,  so  like  to  Gcd 
was  the  majesty  of  the  work.”  1 But  in  the  work  of 
Pheidias,  this  God  was,  above  all,  the  ancients  tell  us, 
serenity  and  calm;  while  in  that  of  Michelangelo  He  is, 
above  all,  motion  and  action. 

He  is  goodness  also,  let  us  not  forget;  this  He  is,  espe- 
cially, in  the  third  and  last  scene,  where  He  looks  down 
upon  His  completed  work  and  blesses  it  from  above: 
benedixitque  dicens:  Crescite  et  multiplicamini.  He  comes 
towards  us  from  the  depths  of  the  firmament,  slowly 
traversing  the  spaces,  His  look  bent  upon  the  earth,  His 
hands  widespread.  It  is  still  the  same  type  of  Jehovah 
with  the  mighty  head,  the  brow  with  its  deep  horizon- 
tal furrow,  like  that  of  the  masque  of  Otricoli;  but  the 
features  are  relaxed,  so  to  speak,  and  softened,  by  the 
expression  of  a measureless  benevolence,  the  face  is,  as  it 
were,  lighted  up  by  the  generous  flame  within.  The 
angels,  so  stirred  and  agitated  in  the  previous  picture, 

1 Phi  dì  a Olympius  Jupiter,  cujus  pulchritudo  adjecisse  aliquid 
etiani  receptee  religioni  videtur , adeo  majestas  operis  Deum  cequa- 
vit  (Ouintil.,  Inst.  Or.,  voi.  xii.,  p.  10). 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  291 


now  float,  serene  and  placid,  tranquilly  sheltered  beneath 
the  mantle  of  the  Lord  as  under  the  great  sail  of  a ship. 
The  tranquillisation  is  complete:  not  a cloud  in  the  sky, 
not  the  slightest  shadow  upon  the  horizon;  the  listening 
universe  seems  to  hold  its  breath,  that  it  may  the  better 
hear  the  word  of  grace  and  love.  A sweet,  melodious 
andante  is  the  finale  to  this  symphony  of  the  Creation, 
whose  first  two  movements  are  so  fiery  and  so  formidable. 

And  here  it  is  well  to  notice  that  the  nine  pictures  of 
the  ceiling — four  large  and  five  smaller — constitute  three 
distinct  groups,  three  vast  tripartite  compositions:  the 
Creation  of  the  World , Paradise , the  Deluge.  These  are 
trilogies  conceived  in  the  form  of  triptychs,1  and  the  al- 
ternation of  the  long  and  short  panels  animates  as  with 
a musical  rhythm  the  entire  series  of  pictures  inspired  by 
the  book  of  Genesis. 

A word  also  concerning  the  angels  who  in  these  paint- 
ings attend  upon  Jehovah,  and  are  again  seen  surround- 
ing the  Prophets  and  Sibyls.  They  have  no  points  of 
resemblance  to  the  superhuman  messengers,  long-winged 
and  long-robed,  of  Giotto  and  of  Giovanni  da  Fiesole;  nor 
have  they  aught  in  common  with  the  aerial  bambino , half 
Eros,  half  “ celestial  butterfly,”  of  Raffaello  and  Titian. 
Wingless,  undraped,  robust  of  limb,  serious  and  some- 
times even  severe  of  expression,  these  angels  of  Buonar- 

1 That  is  to  say,  of  a large  central  panel  with  two  lesser  ones  at 
the  sides.  In  the  triptych  of  Paradise , the  two  side  panels  are 
larger  than  the  central  one,  in  conformity  with  the  position  of  the 
windows  of  the  chapel.  We  may  further  notice  that  the  historic 
episodes  at  the  four  angles  of  the  ceiling  ( Goliath , Judith , Hainan, 
and  the  Brazen  Serpent  ) have  also  the  character  of  triptychs. 


292 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


roti  are  rather  plastic  manifestations  of  Mind,  multiplied 
emanations  of  transcendent  thought.  “ The  ancient  He- 
brew angelology,”  says  Renan,  “was  of  extreme  sim- 
plicity; myriads  of  sons  of  God,  nameless,  surround  the 
Lord,  the  incessant  embodiment  of  His  thoughts.  Michel- 
angelo, in  the  Sistine  ceiling,  marvellously  comprehended 
this, — a sort  of  divine  shell  surrounds  the  Lord  and  the 
happy  children  who,  scarcely  separated  from  Him,  swarm 
about  Him,  identified  completely  with  Himself.”  1 Here, 
again,  the  disciple  of  Savonarola  knew  how  to  read  the  Bi- 
ble as  neither  predecessor  nor  contemporary  of  his  has  ever 
done, — could  penetrate,  by  the  intuition  of  his  own  genius, 
the  ultimate  depths  of  the  Jewish  genius  and  its  mysteri- 
ous concepts.  But  what  is  the  meaning  of  the  female  angel 
in  the  attendant  group,  both  in  the  Creation  of  the  World 
and  in  the  Creation  of  Adam  ? To  me  she  seems  the  Wis- 
dom of  the  eighth  chapter  of  Proverbs,  a chapter  which 
is  recited  by  the  Church  at  certain  festivals  of  the  Virgin 
Mary 2 : “ The  Lord  possessed  me  in  the  beginning  of  his 
way,  before  his  works  of  old.  I was  set  up  from  everlast- 
ing, from  the  beginning,  or  ever  the  earth  was.  . . . 

When  he  prepared  the  heavens,  I was  there:  . . . 

when  he  appointed  the  foundations  of  the  earth  then  I 
was  by  him  : as  a master  workman  : and  I was  daily  his 
delight,  rejoicing  always  before  him.” 

The  second  trilogy  of  the  ceiling  represents  the  Creator 

1 Histoire  d' Israel,  voi.  iv.,  p.  164. 

2 See  Missale  Romanian,  Jan.  23rd,  Sept.  8th,  and  Dec.  8th.  It 
will  also  be  remembered  that  the  Sistine  Chapel  is  dedicated  to  the 
Virgin. 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  293 

calling  into  life  the  man  whom  He  has  formed  from  the  dust 
of  the  earth.  Et  inspirava  in  faciem  in  ejus  spiraculum 
vitce , says  the  Bible;  for  the  mediaeval  artist,  to  represent 
this  “ breath  of  life”  and  its  effect  was  one  of  the  most 
difficult  of  problems.  In  the  mosaic  of  the  vestibule  of 
San  Marco  in  Venice,  the  Creator  hangs  about  the  man’s 
neck  a little  winged  Psyche,  nude  and  classic;  at  Mon- 
reale, a luminous  ray,  coming  from  the  mouth  of  the 
Lord,  touches  the  lips  of  the  father  of  us  all.  Less  in- 
genious, or  more  respectful,  the  Italian  masters  of  the 
fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries  have  no  longer  this 
childlike  venturesomeness;  they  limit  themselves  to  a 
dull,  vague  means  of  expression  which  finally  becomes 
almost  a conventional  sign.  In  Giotto’s  Campanile,  in 
the  famous  bronze  doors  of  della  Quercia  and  Ghiberti, 
in  Pietro  di  Puccio’ s frescos  in  the  Pisan  Campo  Santo, 
and  in  those  of  Paolo  Uccello  in  the  Florentine  chiostro 
verde , the  Divine  Being,  leaning  gently  over  the  inert 
form  of  Adam,  is  understood  to  give  it  life  by  a 
sign  of  benediction,  or  by  a grasp  of  the  hand;  in  the 
Pisan  cemetery,  the  Creator  grasps  both  hands,  as  if 
about  to  lift  the  man  and  set  him  upon  his  feet.  Into  the 
midst  of  this  timid  and  traditional  manner  of  handling 
this  difficult  subject,  bursts  on  a sudden  Michelangelo’s 
conception  of  incomparable  power  and  originality.  From 
the  height  of  heaven,  a swarm  of  angels  surrounding  Him, 
eager  spectators  of  the  great  act,  Jehovah  descends  to- 
wards the  child  of  earth,  as  if  balanced  upon  a soft 
and  rhythmic  breeze;  His  outstretched  arm  magnetically 
warms  and  attracts  the  man’s  limbs,  and  His  imperious 


294  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


finger  communicates  to  them  the  spark  of  life.  Human 
art  knows  not,  and  probably  will  never  know,  inspiration 
more  marvellous.  The  word  electricity  has  occurred  to 
the  minds  of  many,  at  sight  of  the  two  fingers  which 
touch,  as  in  establishing  a current  ; it  has  even  been  asked 
whether  a sublime  artistic  illumination  may  not  here  have 
anticipated  by  centuries  the  science  of  a Galvani  and  a 
Volta.1  Perhaps  it  would  be  more  simple  to  think,  in  this 
presence,  of  a certain  hymn  of  the  Church,  a hymn  august 
and  ancient  above  all  others,  which  surely  was  known  to 
the  painter  of  the  Sistine: 

Veni,  Creator  Spiritus, 

Dextrce  Dei  tu  digitus , 

Accende  lumen  sensibus  ! 

But  the  thing  most  surprising,  most  touching,  also,  in 
this  painting,  is  the  poignant  sadness  that  it  communic- 
ates to  the  soul.  How  grave  and  anxious  the  Creator’s 
face;  what  mysterious  pity,  what  compassion — veiled,  but 
intense  — His  features  express!  He  knows,  alas!  the 
trials,  the  miseries,  which  await  this  clay,  called  to  life  by 
His  breath;  and  the  man,  as  well,  has  a very  bitter  pre- 
sentiment of  it  all.  There  is  no  enthusiasm  in  this  child 
of  earth  at  the  moment  of  an  awakening  so  wondrous, — no 
flash  in  the  eyes  that  have  just  opened  to  the  world’s 
spectacle;  rather,  there  is  anguish  in  the  gesture,  dejec- 
tion in  all  the  limbs;  and  in  the  look,  grand  yet  very  sad, 
something  like  a mute  reproach.  The  body  drooping 
upon  the  left  arm  which  supports  it,  the  right  leg  pain- 


1 Montégut,  toc.  cit. 


Detail  oe  the  Creation  of  Adam 


maciA  ho  koitahmO  siht  -io  jiathQ 
(o.iaoMAvifaoiM  ) 


and  the 


s to  them  tin 


Human 


aspiration 
■urred  to 


•rs  which 
aeen  asked 
>t  here  have 
Galvani  and  a 
• > think,  in  this 
un  h> . : vmrì  august 

ive  all  ot  a as  known  to 

’.e  Sistine  : 

Veni,  Crt 
Dextrte  / '*■ 

Accende  Air»»  i me  : 1 

■?  most  -r  iching,  also,  in 

he  v>  T communic- 

xe  Creator’s 
-veiled,  but 


.•  in re,  dejec- 


drooping 
h t leg  pain- 


, alas  ! the 


•d  to  life  by 
ecj  bitter  pre- 
- mi  in  this  child 
vvondrous, — no 
o the  world’s 


yet  very  sad, 


Moiitégut, 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  295 

fully  bent,  Adam  here  has  the  same  attitude  which, 
later,  Buonarroti  will  give  to  the  weary,  heart-breaking 
Day  of  the  Medicean  mausoleum;  this  ancestor  of  the 
human  race  seems  to  cry  out  with  Job:  “ Wherefore  is 
light  given  to  him  that  is  in  misery,  . . . whose  way 

is  hid,  and  whom  God  hath  hedged  in  ?”  1 The  sombre, 
unhappy  depths  of  Michelangelo’s  genius  reveal  them- 
selves perhaps  nowhere  so  forcibly  as  in  this  immortal 
page. 

Then  follows  a piquant  contrast:  it  is  the  woman,  it  is 
Eve,  who,  in  this  tragedy  of  our  origins,  testifies  joy  in 
being  alive  and  gives  thanks  for  it  to  God!  She  springs 
from  Adam’s  flesh,  delighted  and  delightsome.  With 
her  robust  breadth  of  shoulder,  her  body  radiant  with 
freshness  and  health,  and  her  long  hair  floating  around 
her,  she  represents  the  vigour  and  beauty  of  the  primitive 
ages.  She  is  not  the  beautiful  maiden,  as  has  been  justly 
observed,  ‘‘but  the  great  ancestress,  splendidly  built  for 
love  and  for  maternity,  the  first  wife,  the  first  mother.” 
Only  the  more  touching  for  this  is  her  humble  posture  of 
gratitude  and  adoration  towards  the  Divine  Creator, — 
Jehovah,  here  so  human  and  father-like  in  aspect!  This 
time  the  Lord  is  alone,  without  the  attendant  train  of 
angels:  He  is  standing  on  the  level  with  the  sleeping 
man  and  the  companion  just  given  him  while  asleep;  by 
His  benevolent  and  placid  gesture  the  Creator  seems  ex- 
plaining Eden  to  this  companion.  Set  between  the  two 
grand,  pathetic  scenes,  Adam’s  Creation  and  his  Fall, 
this  graceful  little  picture  of  Eve  is  almost  an  idyl,  and 
'Job  iii.,  20,  23. 


296  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


gives  to  the  eye  a sort  of  glimpse  of  the  Paradise  so 
quickly  lost. 

Lost  through  the  woman’s  fault,  the  fault  of  this  beau- 
tiful but  fatal  Eve!  In  the  Bible  narrative,  however» 
— and  also  in  the  paintings  of  Masolino,  Masaccio,  and  of 
Raffaello, 1 — the  fault  is  still  very  simple,  so  to  speak,  only 
a sin  of  curiosity,  of  desire:  “ And  when  the  woman  saw 
that  the  tree  was  good  for  food,  and  that  it  was  pleasant 
to  the  eyes,  . . . she  took  of  the  fruit  thereof  and  did 
eat,  and  gave  also  unto  her  husband  with  her,  and  he  did 
eat.”  2 Michelangelo,  in  the  Sistine,  amplifies  the  story, 
goes  deeper  into  the  subject  and  darkens  it  with  an  in- 
sistence marked,  almost  cruel,  and — one  may  as  well  say 
the  truth  — misogynous.  Crouched  under  the  tree  of 
knowledge  that  the  serpent  enrolls  with  a scaly  spiral, 
Eve  betrays  a fevered  excitement.  Her  form  no  longer 
has  the  virginal  splendour  of  the  first  day;  it  is,  so  to 
speak,  sunburnt  by  the  hot  breath  of  desire;  the  lips  are 
convulsed,  the  eyes  singularly  gleaming.  She  has  just 
persuaded  her  husband  who,  standing  behind  her,  is 
pulling  down  a branch  of  the  tree  and  is  about  to  reach 
the  forbidden  fruit;  but,  meantime,  the  diabolic  reptile 
himself  stealthily  holds  out  the  fruit  to  the  woman,  and 
she  seizes  it  eagerly. 

We  have  here,  in  this  arrangement,  so  unusual  (and 
even  unique,  so  far  as  I know),  of  the  scene  of  the  First 
Transgression,  an  evident  intention  to  aggravate  the  wo- 
man’s offence,  to  show  her  in  secret  connivance  with  evil, 

1 In  the  Brancacci  Chapel,  and  in  the  ceiling  of  the  Segnatura. 

2 Genesis  iii.,  6. 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  297 

with  Satan;  and  what  follows  does  but  add  to  this  im- 
pression. This  is  the  terrible  expulsion,  where  Adam 
still  keeps,  notwithstanding  what  has  preceded,  the  noble 
and  proud  bearing,  as  of  a Titan  overthrown;  while  his 
companion,  bent  and  sly,  her  hand  clutching  her  hair, 
looking  downward  and  sideways,  walks  by  his  side  with 
stumbling  step  and  feline  aspect.  Far,  indeed,  are  we 
from  Masaccio’s  Fve,  very  pathetic  in  her  open  grief,  her 
unabashed  lamentation;  but  we  are  thus,  perhaps,  nearer 
the  Hebrew  conception  of  the  woman,  nearer  the  Preacher’s 
idea,  the  Eva  before  the  Ave.  “ And  I find  a thing  more 
bitter  than  death,  even  the  woman  whose  heart  is  snares 
and  nets  and  her  hands  as  bands;  whoso  pleaseth  God 
shall  escape  from  her;  but  the  sinner  shall  be  taken  by 
her  . . . one  man  among  a thousand  have  I found; 
but  a woman  among  all  those  have  I not  found.”  1 

The  third  and  final  trilogy  differs  entirely  from  the 
others  by  the  proportion  of  its  figures,  their  comparative 
yet  striking  diminutiveness;  and  it  would  be  idle  to  deny 
that  this  sudden  reduction  of  scale  for  a large  part  of  the 
ceiling  is  inharmonious  as  to  the  general  effect.  It  was 
precisely  here,  as  we  know,  that  Buonarroti  began  work- 
ing; and  this  consideration  has  suggested  an  hypothesis, 
plausible  enough,  and,  in  fact,  at  the  present  day  generally 
accepted.  The  painter,  it  is  said,  had  not  at  first  taken 
into  account  the  exigencies  of  the  point  of  view;  not 
until  after  the  story  of  Noah  was  completed  did  he  be- 
come aware  that  the  figures,  seen  from  below,  were  too 
small,  and  accordingly  he  enlarged  the  dimensions  of  his 
'Ecclesiastes  vii.,  26,  28. 


298  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


dramatis  persona  for  the  Paradise  and  the  Creation.  This 
hypothesis,  however,  breaks  down  on  examination,  if  we 
take  into  any  due  account  the  profound  knowledge  which 
presided  at  the  conception  of  the  Sistine  paintings,  and 
the  organising  mind  which  determined  in  advance  their 
skilful  distribution  and  their  cadenced  symmetry.1  I be- 
lieve, rather,  that  it  was  the  subject  which  imposed  con- 
ditions; the  scene  of  the  Deluge  could  not  possibly  be 
limited  to  two  or  three  figures,  as  in  the  Paradise  and  the 
Creation , and  the  increased  number  of  persons  must 
necessarily  have  reduced  the  scale  of  size  for  the  entire 
triptych.  The  same  fact  appears  in  della  Quercia’s  fam- 
ous bronze  doors;  here,  also,  the  relief  which  has  the  De- 
luge for  its  subject  is  distinguished  from  all  the  rest  by  the 
smaller  figures.  When  we  remember  the  hesitations,  the 
discouragements,  the  resumptions,  which  marked  the  be- 
ginnings of  Buonarroti’s  work  in  the  Sistine  Chapel,  it  is 
not  easy  to  believe  that  he  could  have  spent  long  months 
upon  his  scaffolding  and  painted  a whole  third  of  the 
ceiling  without  satisfying  himself  as  to  the  effect  of  his 
paintings  seen  from  below. 

Nevertheless  it  is  very  striking  and  of  masterly  inven- 
tion, this  fresco  of  the  Deluge  with  its  groups  so  varied, 
so  dramatic!  The  fountains  of  the  great  deep  have  been 
broken  up  and  the  windows  of  heaven  opened;  all  flesh 
wherein  is  the  breath  of  life  is  about  to  be  destroyed  from 

1 It  should  be  among  other  things  remarked  with  what  care  the 
triptychs  of  the  ceiling  are  arranged,  so  that  the  larger  pictures  are 
in  each  case  placed  in  the  axis  of  the  two  corresponding  windows, 
receiving  their  full  light.  (See  also  note  on  page  291.) 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  299 

under  heaven,  and  everything  on  the  earth  to  die.  Upon 
heights  of  land,  menaced  at  once  by  falling  rain  and 
ascending  waves,  a multitude  of  beings,  mad  with  terror, 
have  sought  a refuge  which  is  but  a cruel  illusion.  On 
the  left,  an  arid  strand,  soon  to  be  submerged,  is  the  de- 
ceptive raft  to  which  a crowd  of  wretched  beings  are 
desperately  rushing.  A youth  clings  panting  to  the 
upper  trunk  of  a dead  tree,  which  is  already  violently 
shaken  by  the  north  wind  : a superb  couple,  locked  in 
a convulsive  embrace,  seem  to  regard  with  envy  the 
favoured  climber;  and  towards  this  tree  an  affrighted 
mother,  clasping  a tiny  babe  in  her  arms  while  an  older 
child  clings  around  her  waist,  is  also  making  her  way. 
Another  mother  has  fallen  helpless  upon  the  ground, 
with  not  even  strength  to  care  for  the  child  crying  behind 
her.  A vigorous  and  handsome  man  strives  to  reach  a 
place  of  safety,  carrying  upon  his  shoulders  his  wife  who 
gazes,  fascinated  with  terror,  at  the  pursuing  tide,  furious, 
implacable,  driving  before  it  a motley  crowd  loaded  with 
bags  and  articles  of  furniture,  and  tools,  and  utensils, — 
poor  folk,  striving  in  a cataclysm  like  this  to  save  their 
worthless  belongings!  On  the  opposite  side,  at  the  right, 
a rock  around  which  the  sea  is  breaking,  is  the  scene  of 
incidents  no  less  tragic.  A group  of  four  figures  here 
chiefly  attracts  attention.  An  old  man  with  long  white 
beard  and  a young  woman  at  his  side  stretch  their  arms 
towards  a man,  struggling  courageously  against  the  tide, 
bearing  in  his  arms  a youthful  figure;  but  the  boy  whom 
he  is  saving  from  the  waves  is  but  a dead  body,  while  the 
indifference,  the  apathy,  of  the  other  persons  who  have 


3oo  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


taken  refuge  on  the  same  reef  and  are  entirely  absorbed  in 
their  own  misfortunes,  adds  still  more  to  the  sadness  of 
the  spectacle.  But  the  episode  to  be  distinguished  in  the 
centre,  in  the  middle  distance,  is  most  painful  of  all. 
There,  a boat-load  of  wretched  beings,  themselves  mo- 
mentarily in  peril  of  their  lives,  seem  to  have  no  other 
thought  than  to  beat  off  with  all  their  strength  other  hu- 
man wreckage,  which  is  seeking  to  cling  to  the  frail  skiff; 
with  insane  fury  they  attack  the  intruders,  they  strive  to 
strangle  them,  they  overwhelm  them  with  blows,  a woman 
beats  them  off  with  a large  club;  the  ferocious  selfishness 
of  endangered  life,  the  brutal  instinct  of  self-preservation, 
blaze  out  here  with  evil  flashes.  The  rest  is  of  the  same 
order  : everywhere,  immense  disaster  and  universal  de- 
struction. Only  in  the  background,  high  up  against  the 
black  sky,  traversed  by  long  flashes  of  lightning,  a tawny, 
shapeless  mass  is  visible, — the  ark,  carrying  within  it 
the  pledge  of  a new  world  to  be  born  ; but  this  cradle  of 
restored  life  seems  like  a huge  mausoleum,  so  shut  up,  so 
mysterious  and  sombre  is  the  phantom  ship,  “ pitched 
within  and  without.”  A single  point  of  dazzling  white, 
however,  shines  from  its  top  like  a star, — a dove  with 
outspread  wings, — Noah’s  messenger, — or  would  it  be  the 
Dove  of  the  Holy  Ghost  ? 

In  contrast  to  this  great  picture,  so  full  of  movement 
and  feeling,  and  as  if  to  throw  into  relief  its  pathetic 
and  picturesque  character,  the  two  lateral  panels  of  the 
triptych  show  us  scenes  of  tranquillity,  conceived  in  a 
purely  sculptural  style.  In  its  composition  as  well  as  in 
the  arrangement  of  its  details,  the  Sacrifice  of  Noah  recalls 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  301 


certain  taurobolia 1 so  frequent  on  Roman  sarcophagi; 
and  the  laurel  wreaths  on  many  heads  in  the  group  leave 
no  manner  of  doubt  that  the  painter  had  before  his  eyes 
some  classic  model.  The  last  panel  has  also  the  effect  of 
a relief,  and  in  this  one  it  is  a Bacchic  relief:  it  has,  in 
every  respect,  the  appearance  of  one  of  those  genre  scenes 
where  the  old  sculptors  loved  so  well  to  introduce  some 
adventure  of  Silenus;  but  how  mournful  and  heartrend- 
ing is  the  thought  in  this  Intoxication  of  Noah  ! It  is  the 
thought  which  has  already  so  keenly  marked  the  history 
of  Adam, — the  thought  of  human  frailty  and  of  the  in- 
curable wretchedness  of  our  race.  The  intrepid  syuxi- 
bolism  of  the  mediaeval  period  has  always  lent  a typical 
meaning  to  the  impiety  of  Ham,  likening  it  to  the  crown- 
ing with  thorns;  Noah,  thus  dishonoured  and  ridiculed 
by  his  son,  was  accounted  a prefiguration  of  Christ,  de- 
spised and  rejected  of  men.2  Was  it  in  memory  of  this 

1 Undoubtedly  this  is  Noah’s  sacrifice,  and  not  Cain’s,  as  some 
writers  erroneously  suppose.  There  are  Noah  and  his  wife,  his 
three  sons  and  his  three  daughters-in-law,  the  eight  souls  saved  of 
whom  S.  Peter  speaks  in  his  Epistles  (I.,  iii.,  20;  II.,  ii.,  5 ; also 
Genesis  vii.,  13).  On  the  left  are  animals,  evidently  just  emerged 
from  the  ark  : an  elephant,  a camel,  a bull,  and  a horse.  To  those 
who  object  that  the  Sacrifice  of  Noah  should  precede  the  Deluge , 
we  reply  that  this  is  a triptych,  and  not  a series  of  three  scenes  in 
chronological  order  : the  Sacrifice  and  the  Intoxication  of  Noah 
are  the  two  wings  of  the  main,  central  picture,  the  Deluge.  The 
same  remark  applies  to  the  Punishment  of  Human. 

2 The  classic  book  concerning  mediaeval  religious  tradition,  the 
Speculum  Humance  Salvationis  ;(of  the  fourteenth  century)  says 
(chapters  xxxvii.  and  xxxviii.): 

Isti  etiam  Jud<zi  Christum  subsanando  deriserunt 

Olym  per  Cham  filium  Noe  figurati  fuerunt. 

In  the  Biblia  pauperum  (Heineken,  voi.  ii.,  p.  124),  is  shown  the 


302 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


symbolism  that  Buonarroti  gave  us,  as  conclusion  to  the 
stately  recital  of  our  origiu,  an  Ecce  Homo  so  humiliating 
to  our  pride  ? 

The  magnificent  trilogies  of  the  Creation , Paradise,  and 
the  Deluge,  seem  to  sum  up  the  Epochs  of  Nature,  the  pre- 
historic age  of  humanity,  before  the  choice  of  the  people 
of  Israel  and  the  proclamation  of  the  Law.  Four  script- 
ural scenes,  at  the  four  angles  of  the  ceiling,  have  re- 
ference to  this  chosen  people,  and  testify  to  the  divine 
protection  accorded  to  it  in  diverse  circumstances;  these 
are  the  scenes  of  the  Brazen  Serpent,  the  Defeat  of  Goliath, 
the  Death  of  Holof ernes,  and  the  Punishment  of  Hainan. 
The  triumph  of  the  jmuthful  David  and  the  avenging  act 
of  Judith  had  become,  in  the  second  half  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  favourite  subjects  for  many  Florentine  artists, 
Donatello,  Verocchio,  Botticelli,  and  Buonarroti  himself; 
they  were  patriotic  and  republican  themes  par  excellence, 
and  the  heroic  Bethulian  widow  was  regarded  especiall}' 
as  the  personification  of  popular  liberty.  After  the  ex- 
pulsion of  the  Medici,  the  adherents  of  Savonarola  had 
placed  Donatello’s  Judith  at  the  entrance  of  the  govern- 
mental palace  of  Florence,  with  the  inscription:  Exemplum 
salutis  publicce  cives  posuere  ; Michelangelo  doubtless  was 
not  sorry  to  place  the  same  example  even  in  the  palace  of 
the  Popes. 

Intoxication  of  Noah  and  the  Crowning  with  Thorns,  side  by  side, 
with  this  legend  : 

Nuda  verenda  videt 
Patris  dum  Cham  male  ridet, 

Pro  nobis  triste 

Probrum,  pateris,  pie  Christe. 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  3°3 

It  is  less  easy  to  explain  the  selection  of  the  other  two 
subjects,  for  which  I find  no  precedents  among  the  old 
masters;  but  they  gave  opportunity  for  prodigies  of  ana- 
tomical drawing,  and  this  was  reason  enough  for  Buonar- 
roti’s art.  These  four  pictures,  besides,  have  no  other 
object  than  to  make  connecting  links  between  the  two 
principal  compositions  of  the  vault  (the  Genesis  and  the 
Prophets );  they  are  only  episodic, — -indeed,  almost  foreign 
to  the  general  scheme.  They  contain,  however,  remark- 
able portions  which  deserve  our  attention  for  a moment. 
What  a pity  that  the  scene  of  the  Brazen  Serpent  is  so 
badly  placed  and  so  ill-lighted!  In  the  whole  of  the  Last 
Judgment  I do  not  know  an  episode  its  equal  in  vigour 
of  drawing  and  tragic  expression.  The  inspiration  of  the 
Laocoon  is  very  evident;  but  here  it  is  a multiplied  and 
varied  Laocoon , reverberating  in  echoes  ever  more  and 
more  cruel, — -a  tangle  of  human  bodies  and  hideous  rept- 
iles that  the  eye  unwinds  with  admiration  and  horror. 
The  amount  of  physical  suffering  and  moral  torture,  of 
terror,  and  of  pity  which  the  painter  has  been  able  to  in- 
clude in  a space  so  limited  is  truly  incredible.  How 
different,  on  the  contrary,  and  how  noble  in  feeling,  is  the 
Judith!  Of  the  heroine  we  see  the  back  only;  she  has 
turned  away  her  head,  as  if  startled  by  some  noise  in  the 
room,  and  this  trait  of  fear,  so  feminine,  takes  from  her 
cruel  act  something  of  its  repulsiveness,  restores  to  this 
virago  that  “ milk  of  human  kindness  ” of  which  the  poet 
speaks.  This  conception  of  the  subject  is  entirely  new, 
and  of  a refinement  unusual  to  Michelangelo;  the  group 
of  the  two  women  has  a grandeur  and  a simplicity  that  is 


304 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


eminently  classic;  the  error  is  natural  and  excusable  of 
those  who  have  regarded  this  work  as  the  reproduction  of 
a supposedly  antique  intaglio.1 

Beneath  the  vast  ceiling  which  displays  to  our  admira- 
tion Jehovah’s  creative  power,  the  pendentives  of  the  vault 
proclaim  the  glory  of  Christ  : it  is  a monumental  preface 
to  the  Life  of  Jesus , as  the  triptychs  of  the  Genesis  are  to 
the  life  of  Moses.  The  Prophets  and  Sibyls  symbolise  the 
prehistoric  age  of  Christendom,  so  to  speak, — the  Mes- 
sianic epoch  of  the  New  Covenant,  and  to  this  new 
order  of  ideas  corresponds  a new  order  of  composition. 
Instead  of  dramatic  pictures,  horizontally  suspended 
over  our  heads,  we  have  now,  opposite  to  us,  and  well 
in  view,  twelve  isolated  figures,  sculptural,  gigantic,  in- 
tensely emotional  in  expression.  Vasari  inclines  to  hold 
them  superior  to  all  the  other  paintings  of  the  vault:  “ he 
who  understands  their  signification,”  he  says,  “ will  per- 
ceive that  they  are  divine.”  Superhuman  they  certainly 
are,  truly  titanic;  they  seize  upon  you  and  subjugate 
you  at  the  first  moment,  and  they  will  haunt  you  while 
you  live.  Not  merely  by  the  marble  niches  in  which  they 
are  set  do  they  remind  one  of  the  Moses  of  the  San  Pietro 
in  Vincoli  and  of  the  Pensieroso  of  the  Medicean  Chapel; 

1 A famous  engraved  stone  in  the  Museum  of  the  fiouvre,  repre- 
senting a vintage  scene,  shows  at  the  right  edge  a group  exactly 
similar  to  that  of  Judith  and  her  maid  in  the  Sistina  (see  Manette, 
Traité  des  pierres  gravées , No.  47).  It  was  long  supposed  that  this 
stone  was  an  antique,  and  that  it  had  suggested  to  Michelangelo 
this  group  of  two  women,  but  it  is  now  known  to  be  an  intaglio 
of  the  sixteenth  century,  the  work  of  Piermaria  da  Pescia,  a friend 
of  Michelangelo,  and  the  idea  of  the  stone  is  evidently  copied  from 
the  fresco. 


The  Prophet  Isaiah  (Michelangelo) 
See  p.  303 


■ -':i:  error 

: . usable  of 

arded  thisv 

luction  of 

our  admira- 

s of  the  vault 
mental  preface 

)£  Genesis  are  to 

■ymbolise  the 

•k, — the  Mes- 
to this  new 

composition. 

Instead  o 

)ly  suspended 

over  our  j».* 

us,  and  well 

in  view,  twelve  s:  - 

gigantic,  in- 

tensely  eraotr  o 

: lines  to  hold 

: vault:  “he 

ys,  “ will  per- 

divi r 

the5r  certainly 

• ic;  the'  *■ 

:)d  subjugate 

nt  you  while 

• 

in  which  they 

he  San  Pietro 
• iicean  Chapel; 
’ Louvre,  repre- 

j group  exactly 

>ia  (see  Manette, 

. : ; posed  that  this 

Michelangelo 

an  intaglio 

of  the  sixteenth  cc  v.  . < 

rscia,  a friend 

"f  Michelangelo,  anu  ■'  - ->?  (.•( 

copied  from 

fre'  CO.IOJHOXAJHHOlK  ) HA 

ll.il  HHT 

! 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  3°5 

like  this  Moses  and  this  Pensieroso  they  will  remain  for- 
ever fascinating  — disturbing,  also  — perhaps,  even,  for- 
ever enigmatic. 

There  is,  in  any  case,  one  infallible  way  of  missing 
completely  the  significance  of  these  figures  — to  speak 
after  the  manner  of  the  excellent  Vasari:  it  is  to  study 
them  with  the  literary  ideas  and  the  philosophic  tend- 
encies which  in  our  day  are  so  current.  Beware,  for 
example,  of  seeking  in  the  Old  Testament  the  secret  of 
this  or  that  Prophet  whose  delineation  here  surprises, 
or,  I might  even  say,  disconcerts  you.  You  take  every 
chance  of  adding  merely  to  your  perplexities.  The  Isaiah 
of  the  Sistine,  with  his  meditative  air  and  far-off  gaze, 
will  appear  to  you  then  a personage  altogether  different 
from  the  formidable  nabi  with  words  of  fire  and  voice  of 
thunder  whom  the  Scriptures  have  made  known  to  you. 

On  the  other  hand,  this  violent  gesture,  this  wild  aspect 
of  the  choleric  old  man  opposite,  will  seem  to  you  most 
unsuited  to  the  Ezekiel  of  the  sacred  text,  the  great  con- 
soler of  the  Babylonian  exiles,  the  gentle  seer  who,  in  the 
depths  of  slavery,  rebuilt  in  spirit  the  temple,  constructing 
a heavenly  Jerusalem  with  all  the  precision  of  a surveyor 
and  architect,  “ the  Fourier  of  the  prophetic  age,”  as  he 
has  so  well  been  called.  By  what  sign  shall  we  recognise 
in  this  Daniel  of  the  Sistine,  the  famous  “ watchman  of 
Israel,”  who  first  used  the  great  words  of  futurity,  “ the 
Son  of  Man,”  and  anticipated  the  exile  of  Patmos  in 
Apocalyptic  visions  ? In  fact, — and  it  is  for  reasons  not 
difficult  of  comprehension, — there  are  only  the  Jonah 

and  the  Jeremiah  who  can  at  once  and  unhesitatingly  be 

20 


3o6  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


identified.  For  the  rest,  we  must  have  recourse  to  the 
inscriptions  below,  which  have  no  convincing  authority 
and  seem  to  have  been  distributed  at  random.  Daniel , 
ZecharioJi , and  Joel  might  really  interchange  their  re- 
spective tablets  without  inconvenience;  and  Isaiah  and 
Ezekiel  could  do  it  to  advantage. 

Alone  also  among  the  prophetic  women,  the  Delphic 
Sibyl  reveals  her  personality  in  her  very  aspect,  by  her 
beauty  and  dignity,  by  the  magic  light  from  Hellas  which 
gives  her  a kind  of  spiritual  halo.  On  the  contrary,  no 
trait,  ethnic  or  ethic,  appears,  justifying  the  other  names, 
the  Persica , Libyca , Erythrcea , or  Cumcea.  No  representa- 
tion is  given  of  the  Tiburtine  Sibyl,— an  omission  truly 
surprising.  She  who,  upon  the  Capitol,  pointed  out  in  the 
sky  the  Virgin  Mary  bearing  in  her  arms  Jesus,  the  future 
master  of  the  world, — should  not  she,  before  all  others, 
have  a place  among  the  legendary  prophetesses  of  the 
Christ,  in  the  palatine  chapel  of  the  Popes  ? What  a mate 
to  the  Dclphica  would  have  been  this  sibyl  of  Ara  Coeli  : 
a Romana , companion  to  the  Grceca  ! But,  from  another 
point  of  view,  does  not  this  very  omission  show  how  small 
share  literature  had  in  Buonarroti’s  conception  of  these 
Prophets  and  Sibyls  ? 

He  regarded  neither  literature  nor  philosophy  in  his 
work, — whatever  to  the  contrary  has  been  said1  ; in  the 
choice  of  personages,  as  in  the  manner  of  characteris- 

1 I will  not  speak  of  the  German  metaphysics  of  Henke,  Schef- 
fler,  and  others,  I will  mention  only  a French  author,  a man  of 
extremely  fine  and  cultivated  intellect.  According  to  Emile  Mon- 
tégut  ( Philosophic  de  la  Sixtine),  Jonah  here  represents  faith  ; 
Zechariah,  piety  ; the  Libyca , contemplative  intuition  ; Daniel , en- 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  307 

ing  them,  he  consulted  only  the  requirements  of  his  art. 
Assiduous  reader  of  the  Bible  though  he  was,  he  did  not 
hesitate  to  invest  his  poor  Hebrew  preachers  with  superb 
and  glittering  draperies,  instead  of  presenting  them  to  us 
as  sons  of  the  desert- — as  “sordid  dervishes,”  to  use 
Renan’s  language  — with  garment  of  camel’s  hair  and  a 
leathern  girdle.1  He  cared  as  little  as  possible  about  the 
names  for  them;  to  him  the  important  thing  was  to  op- 
pose the  Zechariah  to  the  Jonah  in  a striking  contrast,  to 
alternate  Joel  and  the  Erythr&a , Ezekiel  and  the  Persica , 
and  so  on,  in  a skilful  rhythm  of  expression  and  gesture. 
He  neve’-  for  a moment  thought  of  making  us  distinguish 
these  Israelitish  seers  and  Gentile  prophetesses  according 
to  the  delicate  shades  of  their  genius,  according  to  the 
tenor  and  style  of  their  predictions;  we  can  discover  in 
these  figures  only  general  and  topical  differences  common 
to  humanity, — differences  of  sex,  age,  and  temperament; 
but  we  discover  also  that  “ never  has  art  or  nature  repre- 
sented humanity  like  this,”  2 and  that  it  is  indeed  a race 
which  walked  before  the  Lord  and  heard  His  voice. 

In  place  of  Julius  II. ’s  Twelve  Apostles,  Michelangelo 
preferred  to  depict  the  seven  Prophets  and  five  Sibyls 
which  we  are  now  considering:  this  subject  appeared  to 
him  less  “poor,”  that  is  to  say,  less  conventional,  less 
styled  and  fashioned  by  past  art.  As  a matter  of  fact, 
mediaeval  art  has  at  all  times  treated  this  particular  theme 

thusiasm  ; the  Delphica , poetic  frenzy  ; the  Persica , jealous  zeal; 
Joel , fidelity  to  truth,  and  so  on.  The  beloved  and  regretted 
Montégut  saw  all  this,  “in  his  mind’s  eye,”  Hamlet  would  say. 

1 2 Kings  i.,  8 ; Isaiah  xx.,  2. 

2 Mai  non  V appresentò  natura  ed  arte.  Purgatorio , xxxi.,  49. 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


308 

with  a carelessness,  a freedom,  never  used  towards  any 
other  of  the  canonical  personages, — patriarchs,  apostles, 
evangelists,  martyrs,  and  the  great  saints  of  the  Church. 
Nothing  was  definitely  fixed  in  regard  to  the  number, 
name,  or  character  of  the  various  Prophets  and  Sibyls 
whose  sculptured  or  painted  semblances  were  multiplied 
on  the  walls  or  portals  of  the  churches;  the  art  of  the 
period  represented  them  in  imaginary  attitudes  and  com- 
binations, in  a grotesque  accoutrement  supposed  to  be 
oriental,  sometimes  with  halos  but  more  generali}’  with 
toques,  hoods,  and  even  eccentric  turbans;  and  scarcely 
had  they  a constant  attribute, — a roll  or  volume.1  Thus 
we  again  see  them  in  the  frescos  of  the  Quattrocento:  in 
the  paintings  of  Fra  Angelico,  of  Melozzo  da  Forli,  and  of 
Pinturicchio.  In  presence  of  subjects  so  vague,  Michel- 
angelo felt  even  freer  than  usual  to  consult  only  his  sov- 
ereign imagination  and  create  types  entirely  new.  He 
did  create  a series  of  figures,  titanic,  Promethean,  at 
once  marvels  and  problems,  which  humanity  will  forever 
admire,  without  perhaps  ever  being  able  fully  to  interpret 
them. 

Impressive  personality  has  a very  great  share  in  this 
painting,  which  is  unlike  all  others.  The  Delphica  and 
the  Jeremiah , those  two  prodigies  of  inspiration  which 
strike  at  first  sight  and  are  absolutely  unforgetable,  seem 
to  have  come  from  the  very’  depths  of  the  painter’s  nature, 

1 The  volume  is  generally  rather  an  attribute  of  the  Evangelists 
and  the  Apostles  ; but  it  also  is  seen  in  the  hands  of  Sibyls.  Com- 
pare, among  others,  Pinturicchio’s  Sibyls  in  the  church  of  Santa 
Maria  del  Popolo. 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  309 

to  personify,  indeed,  “the  two  souls  in  his  breast,’’ 
— the  Ideal  and  the  Sadness  which  is  almost  Despair! 
But  who  will  assume  to  make  himself  the  assured  in- 
terpreter of  the  Libyca  and  the  Ezekiel,  of  the  Daniel  and 
the  Erythrcea , of  the  Persica  and  the  Joel  ? who,  even,  is 
sure  to  find  them  again  on  the  morrow  the  same  that  yes- 
terday he  saw  and  believed  that  he  understood  ? These 
colossi,  hewn  as  if  in  rock,  have  at  times  the  vaporous 
mobility  of  clouds;  they  change  contour  and  aspect  as  one 
looks  at  them.  Everything  is  disquieting,  distressing,  in 
this  volcanic  world,  which  has  an  effect  of  not  yet  being 
at  rest,  of  muttering  ominously,  of  threatening  further 
outbreak.  These  sublime  and  terrible  figures  could  have 
been  born  only  in  the  twilight  of  the  world,  in  an  epoch 
of  which  the  Bible  speaks  when  “ there  were  giants  in  the 
earth’  ’ ; yet  they  are  as  much  realities  as  they  are  dreams, 
they  belong  as  much  to  the  kingdom  of  the  living  as  to 
the  kingdom  of  shadows.  In  the  vast  regions  of  creative 
imagination  you  will  find  but  few  who  are  of  their  race — 
the  Moses,  the  Pensieroso,  Shakespeare’s  King  Lear, 
some  tragedy  of  Aischylos, — shall  I add,  some  page  of 
Beethoven  ? This  name  of  Beethoven  comes  often  to  the 
mind  of  him  who  studies  Buonarroti’s  life  and  work. 

From  the  current  conception  of  past  ages,  Michelangelo 
has  borrowed  here  only  the  well-known  attribute  of  the 
book  or  roll,  but  developing  it  in  an  extraordinary 
manner,  and  making  of  this  accessory,  hitherto  simply 
a mark  and  emblem,  the  general  theme  and  active 
principle  of  the  entire  composition.  He  opens  the  book 
wide,  he  unrolls  the  volumen  in  the  hands  of  his  Prophets 


3io 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


and  Sibyls  and  shows  them  absorbed  in  study  and  medi- 
tation. Daniel  has  upon  his  knees  an  immense  book,  and 
takes  notes  on  a long  tablet  at  his  right.  Joel  is  attent- 
ively occupied  with  a vast  treatise  which  he  holds  with 
both  hands,  while  the  Persica  brings  near  her  eyes,  en- 
feebled by  age,  some  little  cabalistic  book.  Zechariah  is 
turning  the  leaves  of  a stout  codex,  searching,  it  would 
seem,  for  an  important  text:  the  same  is  true  of  the 
Erythrcea,  the  Libyca , and  the  Cumcea,  each  with  her  for- 
midable volume.  Isaiah  has  ceased  reading  that  he  may 
follow  out  some  idea  suggested  by  the  page;  while,  car- 
ried away  by  his  zeal,  Ezekiel  drops  his  manuscript  to 
the  ground,  and  harangues  an  invisible  auditor.  With 
her  gesture  of  ecstasy  and  her  sibylline  page  held  out 
like  a triumphant  banner,  the  Delphica  is  the  most  splen- 
did of  contrasts  to  Jeremiah  of  the  opposite  rank,  the  old 
man,  downcast  and  gloomy,  whose  soul  has  just  exhaled 
itself  in  the  Book  of  Lamentations,  lying  beside  him  on  a 
pillar.1 

No  doubt  in  making  so  ingenious  and  varied  a use  of 
the  book  and  the  roll,  Buonarroti  had  especially  taken 

'On  this  volumen  at  Jeremiah’s  side  is  very  legible  the  word 
Ai/ef  : the  verses  in  the  Book  of  Lamentations  in  the  Vulgate 
being  numbered,  as  every  one  knows,  in  accordance  with  the 
Hebrew  alphabet  (alef,  beth,  ghimel,  etc.).  Certain  German 
critics  have  changed  the  alef  into  alpha , have  supposed  an 
omega  as  its  complement,  and  on  this  alpha  and  omega  have 
built  a whole  edifice  of  quite  gratuitous  hypotheses  and  conjec- 
tures. The  same  critics  have  discovered  that  Michelangelo  has 
delineated  himself  as  Jeremiah.  At  the  moment  of  painting  the 
head  of  this  septuagenarian,  Buonarroti  was  exactly  thirty-five 
years  of  age  ! 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  31 1 


into  account  the  imperious  demands  of  his  art:  he  saw 
in  it  the  means  of  saving  from  an  otherwise  unavoidable 
monotony  the  juxtaposition  of  the  twelve  figures  all  re- 
presenting one  and  the  same  subject  of  prophecy  and 
prediction, — the  means,  also,  of  giving  to  these  twelve  fig- 
ures, isolated,  sculptural,  and  in  a sense  lyric,  an  ideal  and 
dramatic  unity.  It  is  no  less  true,  however,  that  we  have 
here  before  us  a magnificent  picture  of  the  human  intel- 
lect at  its  work,  a picture  of  the  gestation  of  thought  in 
its  multiple  aspects  of  study  and  of  meditation,  of  re- 
search and  of  intuition,  of  ecstasy  and  of  discouragement. 
Michelangelo  here  presents  to  us  a mental  phenomenology , 
expressed  in  stirring,  plastic  language:  a grand  thought 
and  one  which  presented  itself  simultaneously  to  another 
immortal  genius  of  this  incomparable  epoch.  How  avoid 
the  recollection  that,  in  these  same  years  (1510,  1511) 
Raffaello,  in  his  manner,  treated  an  almost  similar  theme 
in  the  School  of  Athens  f 

We  may,  however,  ask  ourselves  if  the  introduction  of 
this  motif  of  study  and  intellectual  labour  has  not  obscured, 
in  a degree,  the  fundamental  idea  of  the  work,  which  is, 
of  course,  the  idea  of  prophecy,  of  illumination  from  on 
high,  of  divine  inspiration.  Inspiration!  this  is  truly 
the  thing  least  expressed  by  these  figures  of  prophets. 
Where  is  an  outgoing  towards  the  mysterious  voice  that 
speaks  to  them — where  the  exaltation,  the  rapture,  at  the 
breath  of  the  Lord  which  passes  over  them  ? And  is  it 
needful  for  them  to  read  so  much,  to  verify,  to  note, — 
these  seers,  who  are  “ the  mouth  of  the  Lord,”  and  whose 
lips  have  been  touched  by  a coal  of  fire  taken  from  off  the 


312 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


altar  of  the  Ford  of  Sabaoth  ? I cannot  but  feel  that 
there  is  a character  far  too  bookish,  too  scholastic,  in  these 
iiabis  and  Pythias  of  the  ceiling;  and  not  to  prophets  of 
the  banks  of  the  Jordan  and  the  Chebar  are  my  thoughts 
led,  but  to  a certain  prophet  of  the  banks  of  the  Arno, 
that  Fra  Girolamo,  who  did,  in  truth,  grow  pallid  in 
his  cell  with  long  study  of  the  Scriptures,  who  perused 
many  commentaries  and  examined  many  texts,  before  he 
affirmed  publicly  that  “ Old  Testament  history  demon- 
strates the  necessity  of  an  approaching  chastisement.” 

The  necessity  of  an  approaching  chastisement!  It  is 
this,  I fear,  which  Buonarroti’s  titanic  figures  proclaim 
also.  In  mediaeval  thought,  those  Prophets  and  Sibyls 
were  the  messengers  of  the  Word  among  Jews  and  Gen- 
tiles, long  before  John  the  Baptist;  and  it  is  as  such  that 
they  were  presented  in  the  Mysteries,1  and  were  carved 
and  painted  on  the  walls  and  portals  of  churches,  the 
verses  spoken  or  inscribed  having  reference  always  to  the 
coming  of  the  Ford.  The  theme  is  the  same,  no  doubt, 
in  Michelangelo’s  work;  but  how  different  the  expres- 
sion, and  how  supremely  disturbing  to  the  mind!  How 
grave  and  severe  these  Prophets  Christi  and  these  in- 
spired women;  how  lost  in  grief  is  the  Jeremiah;  how 
stern  and  fixed,  even,  the  eyes  of  the  Delphica;  how  all 
things  here  seem  to  repeat  the  cry  of  the  Florentine: 
Gladius  Domini  sicper  terram  cito  et  velociter  ! 2 

1 See  the  very  remarkable  studies  upon  the  Prophets  of  Christ  in 
the  Mysteries  of  the  Middle  Ages,  by  Marius  Sepet  ( Bibliothèque 
de  V École  des  chartes,  vols.  xxviii.,  xxix.,  xxxix.). 

2 Uzekiel  i.,  4,  and  ii. , 9,  10. 


k<-tne  ind  the Renaissance 


; loth?  I : but  feel  that 

•sa  vac  ter  far  too  bookish,  too  scholastic,  in  these 
- os'  the  ceiling  : amt  not  to  prophets  of 
rd  >r  are  my  thoughts 

certain  prophe?  inks  of  the  Arno, 

• rolamo,  ruth,  grow  pallid  in 

•s,  who  perused 
exts,  before  he 
• l history  demon- 

ty  of  an  :hastisement.” 

an  appro  • . inent ! It  is 

•.  u Buone  a ures  proclaim 

: th  a.i  rets  and  Sibyls 

r _ Jews  and  Gen- 

on  e John  the  Bài  : : is  as  such  that 

• ■ n i were  carved 

on  the  va!  ano  : is  of  churches,  the 
viri:  or  inserii)»  ’!  -nee  always  to  the 

• be  Lord.  •.  ; 10  same,  no  doubt, 

i’s  1 ;•:  d derent  the  expres- 

snprv:  . ■ to  the  mind!  How 

re  the'.*  . -isti  and  these  in- 

how  lost  it  - i ■ ••.•  che  Jeremiah;  how 
: -vet:.  :h«‘  . be  Delphica;  how  all 

, to  •■  . ' of  the  Florentine: 

• mhri  super  terram  àio  et  velodter  ! * 

vnarkahl  , lYophets  of  Christ  in 

f the  Mid  tk  a is  Sepet  (Bibliolhèque 

'uiries,  vols.  x >.  v >t  , xxxbc.). 

’b'/aJia^à-^iT'éiè'  aHT  ao  iotj^oI  sht  30  azO 
(ojaa/iAJaHOiM) 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  11508-1511  1 313 

Here,  with  these  strange  and  formidable  messengers  of 
the  Good  Xews  of  God,  ended  the  vision  of  the  Sistine 
ceiling  permitted  to  the  Romans  in  the  Assumption  week 
of  15 1 1.  It  was  a vision  as  by  the  banks  of  the  river  of 
Chebar:  “ Out  of  the  north,  a great  cloud  and  a fire  in- 
folding itself  . . . and  when  I looked,  behold  an 

hand  was  sent  unto  me;  and  lo,  a roll  of  a book  was 
therein;  and  he  spread  it  before  me;  and  it  was  written 
within  and  without;  and  there  was  written  therein  lam- 
entations and  mourning  and  woe.”  A few  days  later 
the  chapel  was  again  closed,  the  scaffolding  was  replaced, 
and  Buonarroti  began  painting  the  Ancestors  of  Christ  ; 
figures  not  mysterious  and  sombre  like  the  Prophets  and 
Sibyls  but  serious  and  infinitely  pathetic. 

hi 

‘‘Could  you  say  that  Michelangelo  did  well  to  intro- 
duce this  idea  of  ceilings  covered  with  vast  historic  com- 
positions, which  torture  both  the  painter  and  the  public  ? ’ ’ 
Thus  spoke  one  day  to  me,  in  the  Sistina,  the  disrespectful 
M.  de  M.,  well  known  in  Rome  for  his  sharp  sayings  : and 
he  went  on:  “I  am  quite  aware  that  to  this  vault  we  owe 
Raffaello’ s Psyche , and  Guido’s  and  Guercino’s  Aurora, 
and  the  gallery  of  the  Farnese  palace, — not  to  speak  of 
the  famous  domes  of  Correggio  and  of  Pozzi,  and  other 
great  achievements  which  cheat  one’s  eye  and  wring  one's 
neck.  This  only  proves  that  here,  as  well  as  at  so  many 
other  points,  Buonarroti  was  the  father  of  the  Barocco. 
There  is  no  use  in  talking — the  first  demand  that  I always 


3H 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


make  of  every  work  of  art  is  that  it  shall  not  impose  any 
physical  discomfort;  and  I defy  any  man  to  enjoy  these 
domes  and  ceilings  without  getting  a crick  in  his  back! 
At  the  Rospigliosi,  they  are  civil  enough  to  give  us  a 
mirror  on  a table  under  the  fresco,  which  saves  one  from 
looking  up;  it  is  rather  odd,  but  a most  humane  idea,  we 
must  acknowledge.  If  I had  the  honour  to  be  majordomo 
to  his  Holiness,  I should  do  the  same  here.  Many  a 
time,  in  this  chapel,  have  I quoted  to  myself  Buonarroti’s 
own  line  : 

/ ’ ho  già  fatto  gozzo  in  questo  stento  ! . . .” 

It  is  certainly  true  that  the  Sistine  ceiling,  like  every 
ceiling  covered  with  great  historic  paintings,  has  some- 
thing forced  and  factitious  about  it,  opposed  to  the  nor- 
mal conditions  and  legitimate  demands  of  the  human  eye. 
These  pictures  from  Genesis  are  really  made  as  if  to  be 
hung  directly  before  us,  within  the  usual  range  of  vision; 
it  is  not  without  a feeling  of  vexation  that  we  see  them 
thus  misplaced,  horizontally  suspended  at  a dizzy  height 
above  our  heads.  The  spectator  is  condemned  to  a fa- 
tiguing and  painful  posture;  he  must  use  his  opera- glass 
constantly,  and  very  often  even  that  does  not  render  him 
the  desired  service;  and  he  must  lose  many  hours  before 
he  fully  comprehends  this  “ drama  of  a hundred  acts”  ; 
of  a hundred  episodes,  also, — I refer  to  the  decorative 
element  which  has  so  large  a place  in  Buonarroti’s  work 
and  complicates  it  so  singularly. 

The  great  originalitj^  of  the  decoration  of  the  Sistine 
ceiling  is  that  its  sole  element  is  the  human  form.  Here 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  315 

there  are  none  of  those  geometrical  or  floral  designs,  none 
of  those  arabesques  and  grotesques  which,  in  the  mural 
paintings  of  the  old  masters,  repose  the  eye  at  intervals, 
and  give  better  relief  to  the  principal  scenes.  Instead  of 
these  “customary  ornaments,’’  as  Michelangelo  some- 
what scornfully  calls  them,  in  a well-known  letter  to 
Fattucci,  we  have  continuous  rows  of  reliefs,  caryatides, 
and  statues,  in  bronze,  grisaille,  or  flesh  tints.  There  is 
first  a series  of  twelve  plaques  of  dark,  oxydised  bronze, 
with  twenty -four  colossal  figures  in  camaieu  which  fol- 
low, like  climbing  plants,  the  curves  of  the  tympana  of 
the  windows.  Then  there  are  forty  putti  in  chiaroscuro 
placed  in  couples,  as  caryatides,  against  each  of  the  pilas- 
ters which  frame  the  niches  of  the  Prophets  and  Sibyls. 
Higher  up  and  in  couples  also  and  facing  each  other, 
twenty  nude  youthful  figures — the  famous  Ignudi — hold 
with  their  hands  great  oak-leaf  garlands  (the  oak  of  the 
Rovere)  with  large  bronze  medallions.1  Finally,  in  1512, 
after  the  Ancestors  were  completed,  ten  other  putti , these 
in  flesh  tints,  were  to  find  their  place  beneath,  between 
the  lunettes  of  the  windows,  and  serve  as  bearers  of 
tablets  with  inscriptions. 

All  these  reliefs,  caryatides,  and  statues  are  executed 


1 These  medallions,  originally  very  brilliant,  gilded,  even,  in 
some  parts,  have  become  now  almost  black,  and  deplorably  mar  the 
effect.  Vasari  says  that  their  subjects  are  derived  from  the  two 
Books  of  Kings  : I recognise  principally  antique  military  scenes, 
evidently  inspired  by  the  reliefs  on  Trajan’s  Column.  There  is 
also  a Sacrifice  of  Abraham,  a.  Chariot  of  Elijah,  a Death  of  Ab- 
salom, Cain  and  Abel  ; and  an  Emperor  kneeling  before  a Pope, 
possibly  Barbarossa  and  Alexander  III. 


3i6  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


with  an  incomparable  skill  and  mastery,  and  in  the  Ig- 
nudi, notably,  the  beauty  of  the  human  form  shines  out 
with  a splendour  unmatched  since  Lykippos  and  Prax- 
iteles. How  these  magnificent  epheboi  personify  life  in 
its  full  exuberance,  youth  in  its  freshness  and  brilliancy  ! 
And  still  every  one  bears  on  his  brow  the  sign  of  sadness 
and  grief,1 — Michelangelo’s  indelible  sign-manual.  Mar- 
vellous as  these  decorative  figures  are,  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  they  encroach  considerably  upon  the  historic  part  of 
the  ceiling.  The  interest  is  divided;  the  attention  wanders 
from  the  picture  to  the  frame,  and  cannot  fix  itself  with 
decisive  preference.  Is  it,  indeed,  a frame  which  we  have 
before  us  ? It  takes  life  and  motion  so  strangely,  as  we 
advance  ; the  nearer  we  come  to  the  high  altar  at  the  end 
of  the  chapel,  the  more  the  pzctti  and  the  Ignudi  above  are 
excited  and  uncontrolled.  It  is  confusing,  baffling,  to  the 
mind;  we  ask  ourselves  if  these  beautiful  boys,  these  su- 
perb young  men,  are  not  something  more  than  a decora- 
tion,— whether  they  have  not  some  share  in  the  action 
itself  of  the  drama  ? This  is  so  true,  that  it  is  precisely 
these  decorative  figures  which  always  are  a starting-point 
for  the  extravagant  interpretations  given  to  the  paintings 
of  the  vault,  by  Michelet,  Henke,  Scheffler,  and  others. 
To  the  fair-minded  spectator  this  multitude  of  agitated 
statues,  of  restless  caryatides,  seems  at  last  to  rush,  to 
whirl. 

'Two  Ignudi  alone  are  exceptions  to  this  : one  above  Daniel,  on 
the  right  ; the  other  above  Isaiah,  on  the  left.  The  one  above 
Jeremiah  on  the  left  is  to  me  the  most  beautiful  of  all  ; he  re- 
sembles the  Adam  of  the  ceiling,  has  the  same  melancholy,  almost 
heart-broken  expression. 


Under  the  Sistine  Vault  (1508-1511)  317 

But  what  are  we  — to  reprove  Michelangelo  or  to  ask 
him  a reason  for  his  work  ? Bike  Jehovah,  he  is  what  he 
is,  and  he  has  created  his  world  in  the  omnipotence  of  his 
inscrutable  will:  it  is  ours  to  bow  the  head,  and  “ lay  the 
hand  upon  the  mouth,”  as  Job,  after  having  been  tempted 
to  contend  with  the  Lord. 

“ Who  is  this  that  darkeneth  counsel  by  words  without 
knowledge  ? 1 Where  wast  thou  when  I laid  the  founda- 
tions of  the  earth?  . . . Who  hath  laid  the  measures 

thereof,  if  thou  knowest  ? or  who  hath  stretched  the  line 
upon  it  ?..  . Hast  thou  entered  into  the  springs  of 

the  sea  ? or  hast  thou  walked  in  the  search  of  the  depth  ? 
Have  the  gates  of  death  been  opened  unto  thee  ? or  hast 
thou  seen  the  doors  of  the  shadow  of  death  ?... 
Canst  thou  bring  forth  Mazzaroth  in  his  season?  or  canst 
thou  guide  Arcturus  with  his  sons  ?...  Canst  thou 
send  lightnings  that  they  may  go  and  say  unto  thee,  Here 
we  are  ?... 

The  Lord  answered  Job  out  of  the  whirlwind.  . . . 

Then  Job  answered  the  Lord  and  said:  . . . Once 

have  I spoken  but  I will  not  answer;  yea,  twice;  but  I 
will  proceed  no  further.” 


Job.  xxxviii.  ; xl. 


CHAPTER  XV 


THE  SECOND  STANZA  (15H-I512) 

I 

Bolsena,  a small  town  picturesquely  situated  on  the 
lake  of  the  same  name,  in  the  diocese  of  Orvieto,  is  sig- 
nalled by  the  Roman  Church  as  the  scene  (in  1263)  of  a 
supernatural  event  which  she  has  celebrated  ever  since 
by  one  of  her  grandest  annual  festivals.  A German 
priest  of  exemplary  piety,  but  troubled  with  doubts  as 
to  transubstantiation,  had  undertaken  in  that  year  a 
pilgrimage  to  Rome,  hoping  there  to  obtain  relief  from 
his  mental  anxieties.1  On  reaching  Bolsena  he  stopped 
to  say  mass  in  the  humble  chapel  of  Santa  Cristina,  and 
there  at  the  moment  of  consecration  he  suddenly  saw 
blood  stream  from  the  sacred  wafer  and  cover  the  cor- 
porale (the  linen  cloth  used  in  the  consecration).  Pope 
Urban  IV.,  who  was  at  that  time  in  Orvieto,  had  the  cor- 
porale brought  to  him,  and  instituted,  in  memory  of  the 
miracle,  the  festival  of  Corpus  Domini,  for  which  Saint 
Thomas  Aquinas  composed  a mass,  with  the  two  splendid 

' Futi  quidam  sacerdos  teutonicus , shiceritate  prcecipuus,  mor- 
umque  honestate  preeclarus  et  fidelem  Deo , se  in  omnibus  exibebat 
nisi  quod  in  fide  hujus  sacramenti  plurimum  dubitabat  : so  runs 
the  inscription  (of  the  first  half  of  the  fourteenth  century  ?)  to  be 
read  on  a tablet  of  red  marble  in  the  old  chapel  of  Santa  Cristina, 
the  scene  of  the  miracle. 


318 


The  Second  Stanza  (1511-1512)  3T9 

hymns  Lauda  Sion  and  Pa?ige  lingua.  The  city  of  Or- 
vieto kept  the  relic,  and  built  in  its  honour  the  marvellous 
cathedral,  Eorenzo  Maitani’s  immortal  work. 

Julius  II.  went  one  day  at  vespers  (September  7,  1506) 
to  adore  this  same  relic,  at  the  opening  of  his  first  “ cru- 
sade,” his  campaign  of  Perugia  and  Bologna.  He  was 
then  entering  upon  his  career  of  recoveries  and  conquests, 
and  giving  to  the  world  the  spectacle,  never  seen  till 
now,  of  a Successor  of  the  Apostles  marching  at  the  head 
of  an  army.  These  vespers  at  Orvieto  were  the  religious 
prologue  to  a vast  political  and  military  drama  which  was 
to  last  until  the  close  of  the  reign;  and  it  can  hardly  be 
doubted  that  the  Mass  of  Bolsena  in  the  second  Vatican 
Stanza  is  connected  with  some  vow  made  in  the  Cappella 
del  santo  Corporale,  at  the  moment  of  inaugurating  this 
new  era  for  the  papacy. 1 

The  other  frescos  of  the  second  Stanza  explain  them- 
selves. The  Chastise?nent  of  Heliodorus  is  evidently  aimed 
against  the  Baglioni,  the  Bentivogli,  the  Estensi, — all  the 
spoilers,  in  a word,  who  had  laid  rapacious  hands  upon 
the  treasure  of  the  Temple,  the  Patrimony  of  S.  Peter. 

1 Paris  de  Grassis,  Diarium , September  7,  1506  : Vesperis  finitis, 
Papa  adoravit  corporale  sanguine  Christi  aspersioni,  etc.  Herr 
Pastor  ( Pàpste , voi.  iii.,  p.  798,  note)  is  the  first  person  to  call  atten- 
tion to  this  passage  of  the  Journal.  I add  further  that  it  was  evid- 
ently with  knowledge  of  the  Pope’s  vow  and  to  do  him  a pleasure, 
that  Cardinal  Giovanni  de’  Medici  undertook,  about  this  time,  the 
embellishment  of  the  church  of  Santa  Cristina.  The  ornaments  of 
the  fajade,  as  well  as  those  of  the  interior  (the  latter,  beautiful 
works  of  the  della  Robbia  family),  all  bear  the  arms  of  the  Medici 
with  a cardinal’s  hat — which  shows  them  to  have  been  anterior  to 
the  pontificate  of  Leo  X. 


320  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


The  Retreat  of  Attila  and  his  Huns  embodied  in  a striking 
manner  the  cry  Fuori  i barbari  ! which  Italy  had  heard 
in  1510  with  surprise  and  rapture.  The  Deliverance  of 
Saint  Peter  proclaimed  the  liberty  of  the  Church  in  the 
midst  of  the  audacious  procedures  of  the  sovereigns  of 
France  and  Germany,  and  their  conciliabulum  at  Pisa. 
Finally,  the  Biblical  scenes  of  the  ceiling  made  appeal 
to  the  divine  promises  of  the  First  Covenant,  the  assur- 
ances given  to  Noah,  Abraham,  Jacob,  and  Moses.1  A 
programme  of  abounding  pride,  and  absolutely  personal 
to  Julius  II.!  Accordingly,  the  person  of  the  Rovere 
must  figure  in  each  one  of  the  great  frescos  of  the  walls 
with  the  exception  of  the  last,  where  it  gave  way  to  the 
Prince  of  the  Apostles  in  a graceful  deference  not  with- 
out a certain  very  specious  mental  reservation.  For  more 
than  thirty  years  had  not  the  Cardinal  della  Rovere  been 
designated  by  the  title  of  San  Pietro  in  Vincoli  ? 

And  it  was  in  September,  1 5 1 1 , 2 that  the  Ligurian  Pope 
dictated  to  his  favourite  painter  a programme  so  haughty 
— at  a time  when  Bologna  and  the  Marches  had  just  been 
lost,  when  the  Barbarians  ” were  almost  at  the  gates  of 
Rome,  and  the  conciliabulum  of  Pisa  was  summoning  be- 
fore its  tribunal  the  nephew  of  Sixtus  IV.  ! He  was  just 

'Genesis  vi.,  18;  xxii.,  16,  17;  xxviii.,  15  ; Exodus  iii.,  12,  14. 

2 1 assume  that  Raffaello  must  have  undertaken  the  decoration 
of  the  second  Stanza  immediately  after  the  completion  of  the  first, 
in  September,  1511.  Otherwise  he  would  not  have  had  the  time 
to  finish  the  ceiling  and  the  two  great  frescos  of  the  Mass  and 
Heliodorus  before  Julius  II. ’s  death.  The  date  1512,  inscribed  on 
one  of  the  windows,  does  not  refer  to  the  beginning  of  the  work; 
in  the  Segnatura  the  two  windows  bear  the  date  1511,  although  we 
know  that  Raffaello  had  been  at  work  there  since  1509. 


The  Second  Stanza  (151 1-1512)  321 

recovering,  too,  from  an  illness  which  had  very  nearly 
proved  fatal,  and  his  days  were  already  numbered  ! He 
lived  long  enough,  however,  to  behold  the  Patrimony  of 
Saint  Peter  completely  re-established,  the  French  driven 
back  across  the  Alps,  and  the  Council  of  the  Lateran  re- 
cognised by  all  the  Catholic  world — events  of  a vertiginous 
rapidity,  quite  outstripping  the  possibilities  of  art.  Vainly 
did  Raffaello  hasten,  and  employ  assistants  in  his  work: 
at  the  death  of  the  Rovere  he  had  finished  only  the  ceil- 
ing and  two  of  the  walls.  The  painter  did  not  complete 
his  work  until  15x4;  and  for  the  contemptible  gratification 
of  Reo  X.  he  even  was  obliged  to  substitute  in  one  of  the 
frescos  the  bloated  face  of  the  Medici  for  the  energetic 
profile  of  the  pontefice  terribile .’  But  the  second  Camera 
will  remain,  nevertheless,  the  Stanza  of  Julius  II.,  sum- 
ming up  with  masterly  effect  the  leading  thought  of  his 
reign. 

11 

That  which  strikes  one  at  first  in  this  room,  generally 
called  the  Stanza  of  Heliodorus,  is  the  altogether  Michel- 
angelesque  aspect  of  the  ceiling.  The  God  without  halo 
who  appears  here  to  Noah,  to  Jacob,  and  to  Moses,  is  ex- 
actly the  Jehovah  of  the  Sistina,  with  the  same  grand 
figure  and  gesture,  and  even  with  the  same  drapery 

1 A sketch  of  Attila' s Retreat , by  Raffaello,  preserved  at  Oxford, 
shows  us  Julius  II.  in  the  sedia  gestatoria  instead  of  Reo  X.  on  his 
white  horse,  as  represented  in  the  fresco.  As  to  the  drawing  in  the 
Louvre,  with  an  Apocalyptic  Scene  (Braun,  264),  it  certainly  is 
not  from  Raffaello’s  hand  and  cannot  refer  to  Julius  II.,  as  the 

Pope  in  the  drawing  has  a completely  shaven  face. 

21 


322 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


of  reddish  purple.  In  the  Benediction  of  Noah , there  are 
three  wingless  genii,  nude  and  athletic,  after  the  model 
invented  by  Buonarroti  for  the  pictures  from  Genesis;  in 
the  Burning  Bush  one  of  the  genii  of  the  divine  train 
shelters  his  eyes  with  his  arm  before  the  flaming  presence 
of  the  Ford, — again  a motif  borrowed  from  the  art 
of  the  great  Florentine  master,  as  the  angel  seen 
doubly,  in  profile  and  in  the  back,  in  the  Sacrifice  of 
Abraham ,'  is  derived  without  a possible  doubt,  from  the 
reduplication  of  the  Eternal  Father  in  the  triptych  of  the 
Creation  of  the  World.  We  thus  see,  taking  immediate 
effect,  the  immense  impression  produced  upon  Raffaello’s 
mind  by  that  first  and  hurried  vision  of  the  Sistine  vault 
in  the  week  of  the  Assumption,  1511  ; and  it  is  interesting 
in  the  highest  degree  to  study  the  nature  of  the  homage 
that  he  proposed  to  render  at  once  to  the  painter  of  the 
Sistine  in  his  second  Stanza  commenced  the  following 
month. 

With  charming  and  exquisite  tact,  he  had  recourse  to 
an  original  procedure,  well  planned  to  remove  in  advance 
any  suspicion  of  rivalry  or  competition.  The  four  Bibli- 
cal scenes  of  the  ceiling  do  not  assume  to  be  pictures  in 
the  grand  style,  with  the  customary  frame  of  panels  or 
medallions 2 : they  take  the  modest  form  of  decorative 
hangings,  of  tapestries,  attached  to  the  soffit  by  rings 

1 It  is  altogether  a mistake  to  see  here  two  different  angels,  as 
some  have  done  ; it  is  the  one  Angel  of  the  Lord  of  the  text 
(Genesis  xxii.,  11-18). 

2 Compare,  among  others,  the  ceilings  of  Perugino  in  the  Cambio 
and  in  the  Stanza  del’  Incendio;  Raffaello’s  own  ceiling  on  the 
Segnatura,  etc. 


The  Second  Stanza  ( 15 1 i-i 5 12)  323 

and  nails.  Hence  the  uniform  tone  of  the  background,  of 
a very  deep  blue;  hence,  also,  that  profusion  of  gilding 
and  of  silver  threads  usual  in  the  tapestries  of  the  period; 
hence,  especially,  the  summary  drawing  of  the  figures, 
and  the  violent  colouring  of  the  stuffs,  the  clouds,  and 
the  sky.  The  soft  and  almost  blurred  finish  intentionally 
approaches  as  much  as  possible  the  textile  surface  ; on  the 
other  hand,  the  conception  is  monumental,  Jeliovite , and 
employs  the  titanic  humanity  which  the  painter  had  for  a 
moment  beheld  in  the  Palatine  chapel;  the  Benediction  of 
Noah , notably,  and  the  Burning  Bush , are  compositions 
of  the  highest  rank,  which  no  enlightened  admirer  of 
Raffaello  could  possibly  omit  in  a consideration  of  his 
work. 

For  lack  of  giving  sufficient  attention  to  this  character 
of  tapestries  so  evidently  intended  by  the  artist  for  the 
paintings  of  this  ceiling,  many  judicious  critics  have  cre- 
ated for  themselves  difficulties  altogether  needless.  They 
have  seen  a shocking  disparity  between  the  imposing  con- 
ception of  these  four  Biblical  subjects  and  what  they 
have  called  its  “ feeble  execution,”  the  blame  for  which 
they  have  thrown  upon  the  Urbinate’s  “ assistants.”  On 
the  other  hand,  Cavalcasene,  who  has  not  been  able  to 
detect  the  hand  of  any  assistant  in  these  frescos,  dis- 
covers in  them  only  the  deplorable  damage  of  the  in- 
tonaco and  of  Maratta’s  very  unsuccessful  restorations. 
“Nowhere,”  he  says,  “has  Raffaello  more  plainly 
stamped  his  own  style  and  genius;  in  no  one  of  his 
preceding  works  do  we  see  such  breadth  and  skill  in 
drawing,  united  to  charm,  transparency,  and  harmony 


324  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


of  colouring  as  in  the  portions  of  this  ceiling  which  have 
not  undergone  alteration.”  1 Without  at  all  denying  the 
fact  of  these  alterations,  or  the  even  much  more  disastrous 
corrosion  of  the  surface,  visible  especially  in  the  Sacrifice 
of  Abraham,  I feel,  however,  compelled  to  insist  upon  the 
essentially  decorative  value  of  the  historic  scenes  of  the 
ceiling  and  upon  the  generous  thought  which  inspired  a 
scheme  so  original. 

It  is,  indeed,  very  touching — this  page  in  which  Raf- 
faello so  humbly  declares  that  he  can  neither  ignore  nor 
equal  the  formidable  art  of  the  Sistine  vault  ! Doubtless 
the  Urbinate  will  not  forever  maintain  this  attitude  of  self- 
effacement  in  the  presence  of  a rival  always  haughty  and 
scornful:  under  the  sting  of  Michelangelo’s  disdain  and 
of  the  general  infatuation  for  the  terribilità  of  his  painting, 
young  Santi  will  raise  his  head  again  ; he  will  attempt  even 
to  measure  himself  against  the  Titan  in  the  church  of 
the  Pace  and  in  the  Stanza  of  the  Incendio, — a rash  at- 
tempt, and  one  for  which  many  others  besides  Vasari  will 

1 Cavalcasene,  Raffaello , voi.  ii.,  pp.  165-169.  I will  not  stop  to 
do  more  than  mention  the  singular  discovery  of  the  “ innovators  ” 
that  the  Biblical  scenes  of  this  ceiling  are  the  work  of  Peruzzi. 
Frizzoni  ( Arte  italiano  del  Rinascimento , 1891,  pp.  197  et  seq.) 
has  already  made  an  end  to  this  conjecture  by  asking  if  it  would 
be  possible  to  admit  that  compositions  like  the  Benediction  of 
Noah  and  the  Burning  Bush , could  have  been  made  in  1508  or 
1509,  that  is  to  say,  before  the  unveiling  of  the  Sistine  vault.  The 
“ innovators,”  moreover,  have  not  paid  attention  to  the  fact  that  we 
have  a famous  engraving  of  the  Benediction  of  Noah  by  Raimondi 
— who,  so  far  as  I know,  never  engraved  Peruzzi’s  work.  And 
what  can  be  said  of  the  magnificent  cartoon  of  the  Burning  Bush 
(in  the  Museum  of  Naples),  which  bears  so  incontestably  the  stamp 
of  Raffaello’s  hand  ? 


The  Second  Stanza  (151 1— 1 5 1 2 ) 325 

censure  him  sharply  ! But  how  can  we  fail  to  admire  this 
first  impulse  of  his,  in  the  Stanza  of  Heliodorus  — an  im- 
pulse so  candid,  so  generous,  perhaps  unique  in  the  his- 
tory of  men  of  genius  ! 

m 

These  great  masters  of  the  Renaissance  took  no  care  for 
local  colour,  for  chronological  or  topographical  truth,  for 
“ the  document,”  as  the  phrase  is  now;  and  in  the  Vati- 
can fresco  consecrated  to  the  santo  Corporale  nothing  re- 
calls the  chapel  of  Santa  Cristina  as  we  still  it  see  in 
Bolsena — a poor  little  place,  underground,  very  small  and 
low- walled,  extremely  dark  and  damp,  also;  interesting, 
however,  on  account  of  its  altar  surmounted  by  an  old 
ciboriirm  having  red  colonnettes  with  white  capitals,  and 
for  its  great  Batin  inscription  relating  at  full  length  the 
supernatural  occurrence  in  1263  to  the  sacerdos  teutonicus, 
in  presence  of  numerous  witnesses,  townsfolk  of  the  classic 
Vulsinium.  In  Raffaello’s  composition,  the  scene  takes 
place  in  a magnificent  cathedral,  during  some  brilliant 
funzione,  in  presence  of  a Pope,  and  this  Pope  (under- 
stood to  be  Urban  IV.)  has  the  features  of  Julius  II.  He 
is  kneeling,  and  his  hands,  loaded  with  rings  and  joined 
in  prayer,  rest  upon  a faldistolio,  while  his  eyes  are  fixed 
upon  the  officiating  priest.  Behind  the  pontiff  and 
lower,  stand  cardinals  and  prelates;  still  lower,  at  the 
foot  of  the  marble  steps  that  lead  to  the  choir,  the  Swiss 
Guard  is  picturesquely  grouped  around  the  sedia  gestat- 
oria,— five  heads  of  superb  realism,  evidently  portraits. 

The  presence  of  the  Pope,  his  attitude,  the  attitude  of 


326  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


the  high  clergy  present,  make  the  principal  charm  and 
the  great  originality  of  the  picture  which,  with  its  chalice, 
its  sacred  wafer,  its  assembly  of  the  faithful  in  the  act  of 
worship,  would  otherwise  be  too  nearly  a replica  of  the 
Disputa , in  the  adjacent  hall.  The  unfortunate  and  very 
noticeable  retouches  of  Maratta  have  taken  from  the  face 
of  the  youthful  celebrant  that  imprint  of  confusion  and 
terror  which  Vasari  mentions1;  but  the  devout  crowd  at 
the  foot  of  the  altar  has  fortunately  been  preserved  to  us 
nearly  as  it  came  from  Raffaello’ s hand.  It  is  the  hymn 
Lauda  Sion  rendered  into  action  and  composed  of  human 
types;  surprise,  delight,  impulses  of  the  soul  stirred  in  its 
very  depths  — all  this  is  to  be  read  on  these  faces  of  the 
people,  admirable  in  expression  and  motion;  one  might 
say  it  is  one  of  those  “ gifts  of  tongues,”  spoken  of  in  the 
Acts  of  the  Apostles,  an  electric  current  irresistibly  reach- 
ing young  and  old,  men  and  women,  and  only  subsiding 
as  it  approaches  the  pontifical  presence.  Grave,  self- 
possessed,  imposing  beyond  all  description,  the  Vicar  of 
Jesus  Christ  betrays  neither  surprise  nor  emotion.  His 
severe  and  piercing  gaze  has  detected  the  cruel  doubt  of 
the  priest,  and  seems  to  say  to  him:  “ O thou  of  little 
faith!”  The  accompanying  prelates  are  likewise  tran- 
quil and  serious.  It  is  an  expression  of  the  fact  that 
Tope  and  cardinals  are  here  the  official  representatives 
of  the  Church,  of  that  divine  institution  which  is  wonted 
to  miracles,  and  to  which  the  supernatural  is  the  very 
element  of  life: 

1 Testa  infocata  di  rosso  . . . spaventato  negli  occhi  e fuori 

di  sè  smarrito. 


JpfK  MV*  Ol  gorgfiMV  (K ’/ HI'.VKl'ro) 


,KXV 

lissance 

al  charm  and 

ih  its  chalice, 

u in  the  act  of 

- replica  of  the 

ate  and  very 

from  the  face 

confusion  and 

' 

- out  crowd  at 

•.liar  has  lor*’  • 

reserved  to  us 

rom  Rt';  • 

i t is  the  hymn 

into  a t <m  •>.. 

. j posed  of  human 

;tg 'it,  ; ' <•  •-  ■ • 

soul  stirred  in  its 

. lese  faces  of  the 

in  expreafto  ■■ 

,»n  ; one  might 

■ 

: -oken  of  in  the 

; ostles,  an  elect ; ; cm- 

resistibly  reach- 

aid  old,  me 

5 -only  subsiding 

-aches  the  potyÉfi-- 

Grave,  self- 

;ro«iog  beyemii 

‘ the  Vicar  of 

emotion.  His 

gaze  has 

cruel  doubt  of 

y-ems  to  s;> 

1 thou  of  little 

.ompatiying 

likewise  tran- 

' t is  * 

the  fact  that 

are 

• representatives 

-,  Mich  is  wonted 

: • r.al  is  the  very 

nrjli  occhi  e fuori 


i 


The  Second  Stanza  (1511-1512)  327 

Quod  non  capis,  quod  non  vides , 

Animosa  firmat  fides 
Propter  rerum  ordinem  ! 

Nothing  is  more  stately  and  majestic  than  this  figure 
of  Julius  II. , kneeling  alone  upon  the  platform  before 
the  bleeding  wafer;  it  dominates  the  whole  picture  of  the 
Mass  of  Bolsena , I had  almost  said  it  dominates  all  the 
other  paintings  of  the  second  Stanza.  There  is  something 
of  the  lion  in  this  head  of  the  Rovere,  something  of  the 
Moses  also;  this  is  indeed,  the  indomitable  sovereign 
who  for  so  many  years  has  resisted  kings  and  emperors, 
will  soon  -esist  the  whole  Sacred  College  imploring  him 
upon  their  knees  to  yield  to  Destiny.  In  a higher  order 
of  thought  this  is  also  the  pontiff  full  of  faith  in  his  mis- 
sion and  in  the  word  spoken  to  the  Apostle:  Tu  es  Petrus , 
et  super  hanc  petram. 

Chance  sometimes  brings  about  meetings  and  contrasts 
of  which  our  philosophy  of  history  does  not  dream.  At 
the  very  moment  when  Raffaello  was  at  work  upon  his  Mass 
of  Bolsena,  in  January,  1512,  the  Eternal  City  had  for  a 
transient  visitor  a young  German  priest  who  was  to  make 
his  mark  very  differently  in  the  annals  of  the  Church  from 
the  sacerdos  teutonicus  of  the  time  of  Urban  IV.  Coming 
to  Rome  on  business  of  his  Order — he  was  an  Augusti nian 
—he  had  made  his  temporary  home  in  the  monastery  of 
Santa  Maria  del  Popolo,  the  sanctuary  of  the  Rovere 
house.  He  had  long  cherished  the  desire  to  make  his 
general  confession  in  the  city  of  the  Apostles,  and  he 
could  now  satisfy  this  need  of  his  soul.  Had  he  already 
suffered  anxiety  on  the  subject  of  this  dogma  or  that,  the 


328  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


dogma,  for  instance,  of  the  Real  Presence  which  so  agitated 
his  predecessor  of  the  year  1263?  He  always  said  the 
contrary  ; he  affirmed  that  no  doubts  had  ever  invaded  his 
mind  and  that  it  was  with  the  most  ardent  faith  that  he 
visited  all  the  holy  places,  and  made  the  fatiguing  ascent 
of  the  Santa  Scala.  He  often  stood  before  the  ruins  of  the 
Theatrum  and  of  the  Thermae  Diocletianae,  “ wondering 
that  the  Roman  Empire  could  have  risen  so  high  without 
a knowledge  of  God.”  As  for  the  marvels  of  the  Renais- 
sance which  surrounded  him  on  every  side,  the  rude  Ger- 
man monk  cared  not  for  them,  did  not  even  suspect  their 
existence.  In  all  his  numerous  works  and  pamphlets,  in 
his  Table - Talk  even,  no  mention  is  ever  made  of  Bra- 
mante, of  Michelangelo,  or  of  Raffaello.  The  son  of  a 
peasant,  as  he  was  always  proud  to  remember,  a true 
“ barbarian  ” of  the  North,  what  could  all  those  belle  cose, 
the  delight  of  a Bembo,  a Bibbiena,  a Sadoleto,  say  to  him  ? 
But  he  gazed  upon  the  frightful  ostentation  of  those 
Princes  of  the  Church  who  wore  the  purple,  and  he  must, 
from  time  to  time,  have  met  in  the  streets  Cardinal  Riario 
with  his  train  of  three  hundred  horsemen.  He  saw — one 
can  sometimes  see  it  still  at  this  day  — the  Italian  priests 
hurrying  through  their  mass,  and  arriving  at  the  He  missa. 
when  he  himself  was  scarcely  beyond  the  Gospel;  he 
heard  at  table,  between  the  brethren  and  the  court- 
people,  the  strangest  talk  as  to  the  holiest  things,  horrible 
stories  of  the  Borgian  pontificate;  and  an  immense  store 
of  hatred  and  bitterness  was  heaped  up  in  his  heart 
against  the  ‘‘New  Babylon,”  where,  however,  an  Erasmus 
had  enjoyed,  as  nowhere  else,  the  happiness  of  life. 


The  Second  Stanza  (1511— 1512)  329 

At  the  end  of  a few  weeks  spent  in  this  Babylon, 
Brother  Martin  quitted  the  monastery  of  Santa  Maria  del 
Popolo  as  unknown  and  obscure  as  when  he  entered  it; 
but,  five  years  later,  the  “ Theses”  of  Wittenberg  were 
to  make  only  too  well  known  the  formidable  name  of 
Luther.1 


IV 

The  distribution  of  the  groups  in  the  fresco  of  Helio- 
doms  defies  the  ordinary  rule  of  all  composition:  the 
action  is  at  the  two  extremities  of  the  picture,  and  the 
centre  is  vacant,  or  rather  has  been  vacated.  This  un- 
usual arrangement  makes  one  perceive  at  once  how  sud- 
den and  impetuous  has  been  the  coming  of  the  celestial 
messengers,  who  rush  upon  the  scene  to  defend  the 
violated  sanctuary. 

The  multitude  and  the  high  priest  were  in  distressed 
expectation  : the  Scripture  says,  “ While,  therefore,  they 
called  upon  the  Almighty  Lord  to  keep  the  things  en- 
trusted to  them  safe,  Heliodorus  went  on  to  execute  that 
which  had  been  decreed.  But  when  he  was  already  pre- 
sent there  with  his  guard,  over  against  the  treasury,  the 
Lord  of  spirits  and  the  prince  of  all  power  caused  a great 
apparition,  so  that  all  who  had  ventured  to  come  in  with 
him,  stricken  with  dismay  at  the  power  of  God,  fainted 
and  were  sore  afraid.  For  there  was  seen  by  them  a 
horse  with  a terrible  rider  upon  him,  and  adorned  with 

1 The  date  of  Luther’s  visit  to  Rome  (end  of  1511  and  beginning 
of  1512)  has  been  well  established  by  Hausrath  {Martin  Luther's 
Romfahrt , 1894,  p.  27). 


330 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


beautiful  trappings,  and  he  rushed  fiercely  and  smote  at 
Heliodorus  with  his  fore  feet,  and  it  seemed  that  he  that 
sat  upon  the  horse  had  complete  harness  of  gold.  And 
there  also  appeared  unto  him  two  young  men,  notable  in 
strength  and  excellent  in  beauty  and  splendid  in  their 
apparel,  who  stood  by  him  on  either  side  and  scourged 
him  unceasingly,  inflicting  on  him  many  sore  stripes. 
And  Heliodorus  fell  suddenly  to  the  ground,  and  was 
compassed  with  great  darkness  . . . for  he  by  the 

hand  of  God  was  cast  down,  and  lay  speechless,  without 
hope  of  life.”  1 

The  story  of  the  Jewish  historian  is  faithfully  repro- 
duced before  us.  Among  the  Syrian  guards,  some  pro- 
ceed to  their  work  of  plunder,  and  try  to  draw  away  the 
heavy  chest  of  the  treasury,  while  others  are  already  ter- 
rified by  the  miraculous  apparition,  and  Heliodorus  him- 
self is  thrown  to  the  ground  under  the  hoofs  of  the  fiery 
horse.  The  vase  filled  with  gold  has  escaped  from  his 
hands,  and  his  right  hand  clings  convulsively  to  his  spear; 
his  face,  notwithstanding  his  distress,  has,  however,  a cer- 
tain dignity  which  contrasts  finely  with  the  abject  terror 
of  his  ruder  followers.  The  celestial  horseman,  with  his 
golden  armour,  his  glittering  helmet  surmounted  by  a 
griffin,  his  cloak  blown  by  the  wind,  and  his  white  horse 
richly  caparisoned  and  in  a gallant  posture,  is  strangely 
poetic,  one  might  say  chivalrous  — suggesting  some  hero 
of  Ariosto  or  Boiardo.  And  how  describe  in  words  the 
beauty  of  the  two  youths,  “ notable  in  strength  and  excel- 
lent in  beauty,”  closely  following  the  horseman,  scarcely 
1 Maccabees,  II.,  iii.,  22  et  seq. 


The  Second  Stanza  (1511-1512)  331 


touching  the  ground,  impelled  as  by  a cyclone,  and  ready 
to  smite  ! 1 

On  the  other  side,  at  the  left,  an  admirable  group  of 
women  look  on  at  the  punishment  of  the  invader,  and  re- 
joice: how  often,  with  the  great  masters  of  the  sixteenth 
and  seventeenth  centuries,  we  find  this  group,  which  like 
the  chorus  of  Greek  tragedy,  utters  the  sentiment  of  the 
multitude!  One  might  wonder  that  Raffaello  has  com- 
posed his  chorus  here  exclusively  of  women  and  children; 
but  he  had  in  mind  a verse  of  the  text:  “ And  the  high 
priest  told  him  that  there  was  in  the  treasury  money  laid 
up  for  the  relief  of  widows  and  fatherless  children  ” 2;  at- 
tention is  called  to  this  by  Vasari.  In  the  remote  back- 
ground of  the  picture  we  see  the  apse  of  the  temple,  the 
“ Holy  of  Holies,”  with  the  ark  of  the  covenant,  the  cher- 
ubim, the  consecrated  vessels,  the  censers,  and  the  seven- 
branched  candlestick.  On  his  knees  before  the  open 
Thorah,  the  high  priest,  with  the  priests  and  levites,  is 
still  imploring  that  help  from  on  high  which  already,  in 
the  foreground,  is  manifesting  itself  with  so  terrible  a 
power;  and  this  last  trait,  this  foreshortening  of  time , if  I 
may  so  say,  completes  our  impression  of  the  overwhelm- 
ing rapidity  of  the  catastrophe. 

Lodiamo  i calci,  eh ’ ebbe  Eliodoro  /* 

1 The  Louvre  has  a large  and  splendid  drawing  of  these  “two 
young  men,”  which  is  believed  to  be  from  the  hand  of  Giulio  Ro- 
mano. The  drawing  has  many  pin-pricks,  and  very  probably  was 
part  of  the  original  cartoon,  owned  in  the  time  of  Vasari  by  one 
Francesco  Massini  di  Cesena  (Vasari,  Vite , ed.  Milanesi,  voi.  iv., 

p.  364). 

2 Maccabees,  /.  c.,  io. 


Purgatorio,  xx.,  113. 


332 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


Raffaello  had  never  before  designed  a scene  so  dramatic, 
so  full  of  action  as  this  picture  of  the  Syrian’s  punish- 
ment. This  fresco  is  the  prelude  to  the  marvellous  cycle 
from  the  Book  of  Acts — the  cartoons  of  Elymas , the  Sacri- 
fice of  Lystra , the  Death  of  Ananias , and  many  others; 
it  preludes  in  general  the  great  historic  painting  which 
was  to  become  so  important  in  Italy,  and  later  in  France. 
Many  of  the  famous  works  of  Sodoma  and  Andrea  del  Sar- 
to, of  Domenichino  and  Guido,  of  Poussin  and  Resueur, 
have  for  point  of  departure  this  page  of  Raffaello,  founded 
on  an  incident  of  the  Book  of  the  Maccabees;  and  it  is  all 
the  more  sad,  on  this  account,  to  recognise  the  deplorable 
condition  in  which  this  page  has  come  down  to  us. 

It  seems  to  have  been  in  the  second  Stanza,  and  before 
the  fresco  of  Heliodorus  that  the  Germans  and  Spaniards, 
in  the  sack  of  Rome,  particularly  disported  themselves,  at 
the  time  of  the  invasion  of  the  Vatican  rooms  in  1527: 
they  lighted  a fire  here — -to  warm  themselves,  in  the 
month  of  May!  The  heat  and  the  smoke  made  frightful 
cracks  in  the  intonaco  and  deep  alterations  in  the  colour- 
ing; and  subsequent  restorations  and  retouches  have  done 
the  rest  in  totally  ruining  the  master’s  work.  Scarcely 
a single  figure  in  the  two  principal  groups  remains  intact 
— except  the  head  of  the  young  man  in  advance,  which  is 
still  admirable;  and  the  background  has  a black,  opaque 
look  very  injurious  to  the  effect  of  the  architecture.  One 
can  only  now  conjecture  its  original  splendour.  Raffaello 
represented  the  temple  of  Jerusalem  after  the  ideal  which, 
at  the  time,  fascinated  all  men’s  minds — that  of  the  new 
S.  Peter’s,  then  in  process  of  construction:  a central  edifice 


Detail  of  the  Punishment  of  Heliodorus 
(Raffaello) 


rui  the  Renaissance 


■ -‘X  before  designed  a scene  so  dramatic, 
< -his  picture  of  tb  Syrian’s  punish- 
the  pride  b:  marvellous  cycle 

br.  - i:  m lymas,  the  Sacri- 

■ 'V.  /)'  ■;:  and  many  others; 

trie  painting  which 
and  later  in  France. 
r:r.s  . .d  Andrea  del  Sar- 


TO,  Oi 

. : ’ • • ' Q 

.sin  and  Lesueur, 

have  i< 

*xbnt  of  depr. 

Raffaello,  founded 

■ 

bees;  and  it  is  all 

the  m. 

>re  sad,  on  this  neciru?.-; 

se  the  deplorable 

comi  it 

e,  i ■ .vhic.h  this  p-'*v’  • 

• nvn  to  us. 

"n  to  have  1 et-s  Y 

*.nza,  and  before 

-co  of  Hehodot  -t  t ' . I 

■ns  and  Spaniards, 

■ 

md  themselves,  at 

m rooms  in  1527: 

. i . re  ' •.•r 

.emselves,  in  the 

oke  made  frightful 

•us  in  the  colour- 

nd  csjueru  • < 

rouches  have  done 

the  re 

St  is  lo-lity  in  : Y 

• - work.  Scarcely 

à .;ilg 

ps  remains  intact 

r advance,  which  is 

iniraMe;  arb  the  ! *d 

: a black,  opaque 

architecture.  One 

•dour.  Raffaello 
; the  ideal  which, 

b-  -that  of  the  new 

a central  edifice 

^.  jatoaouaH  to  TvisKHgivrjH  hht  hc  jiathu 

(OJJSAHaA^) 


I 


* 


I 


1 


;) 


The  Second  Stanza  ( 15 1 1 — 1 5 1 2 ) 333 

in  the  form  of  a Greek  cross  in  its  interior  and  surmounted 
by  an  immense  dome.  We  have  here  the  vertical  section 
of  the  future  Basilica  in  its  ensemble,  as  the  School  of 
Athens  shows  us  the  great  nave,  with  its  gigantic  arches 
and  its  long  series  of  niches  adorned  with  statues.  De- 
vastated as  is  the  architecture  in  the  Punishment  of  PI clio- 
dorus , it  nevertheless  presents  to  us  an  interest  of  the 
highest  order;  I should  be  inclined  even  to  say  that  in 
the  recent  praiseworthy  attempts  that  have  been  made  to 
reconstruct  the  original  plan  of  S.  Peter’s,  sufficient  use 
has  perhaps  not  been  made  of  the  indications  offered  in 
this  respect  by  the  two  frescos  I have  just  mentioned. 

Quite  at  the  end  of  the  temple,  at  the  left,  appears  the 
Ligurian  Pope,  in  his  sedia  gestatoria.'  He  takes  no  part 
in  the  action,  he  is  but  a witness,  a spectator;  all  propor- 
tions preserved,  he  has  here  the  same  part  that  is  played 
by  many  a donor  in  religious  pictures  of  the  fifteenth  and 
sixteenth  centuries.  But  he  is  proud  and  triumphant,  as 
the  Romans  must  have  admired  and  welcomed  him  in  the 
early  days  of  December,  1512,  at  the  epoch  of  the  Council 
and  the  Tc  Denm. 


v 

The  two  frescos  which  are  in  sequence  with  the  Helio- 

1 The  three  porters  of  the  sedia  are  evidently  portraits.  One  has 
in  his  hand  a leaflet  bearing  the  words  : Io,  Petro  de  Foliariis 
Cremons.  Vasari  regards  the  youngest  of  the  three  as  Marcan- 
tonio Raimondo.  The  one  in  advance,  with  the  beard,  has  until 
recently  passed  for  Giulio  Romano.  It  is  now  more  generally  be- 
lieved to  be  Baldassare  Peruzzi.  See  Frizzoni,  Arte  ital.  del 
Rinascimento , p.  196. 


334 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


dorus  were  not  executed  till  after  the  death  of  Julius  IL, 
and  Leo  X.  did  not  lose  the  opportunity  to  substitute 
himself  ostentatiously  for  his  predecessor,  in  Attila' s Re- 
treat. He  caused  himself  to  be  represented  on  his  white 
Turkish  horse,  the  famous  horse  of  Ravenna  and  of  the 
possesso , — he  also  chose  to  appear  in  pontificalibus,  with 
his  cardinals  and  equerries,  with  his  cross-bearer,  his 
mace-bearer,  his  master  of  ceremonies — and  all  this  the 
poor  artist  was  obliged  to  endure,  and  posterity  has  par- 
doned this;  no  critic  or  historian  of  art  has  complained  of 
it  up  to  this  day  ! To  make  up  for  that,  however,  they 
have  often  complained  of  the  lack  of  unity  in  the  second 
Stanza  as  compared  with  the  first, — of  the  lack  of  connec- 
tion among  the  four  great  historic  scenes  of  the  walls. 
Try,  however,  by  a mental  effort  to  banish  from  the  pic- 
ture of  Attila  the  unlucky  figure  of  the  Medici  with  his 
suite;  and,  instead,  let  there  be  Pope  Julius  II.,  borne  in 
his  sedia  gestatoria , as  you  see  him  in  the  Oxford  sketch, 
— as  you  have  seen  him  already  in  the  fresco  of  Helio- 
dorus;  and  the  ensemble  of  the  Camera  is  reconstructed 
marvellousljq  the  leading  idea  of  the  cycle  bursts  forth 
with  irresistible  power  and  clearness.  The  vow  of  Or- 
vieto then  appears  as  the  signal  for  the  ‘ * crusade  ’ ’ that 
the  nephew  of  Sixtus  IV.  is  about  to  undertake  for  the 
grandeur  and  independence  of  the  Holy  See;  and  this 
vow  is  at  the  same  time  the  appeal  to  a miracle.  Then 
comes  the  punishment  of  the  spoilers  of  the  temple  ; and, 
lastly,  the  retreat  of  the  “Barbarians”  from  the  sacred 
soil  of  Italy.  Julius  II.  is  present  in  thought  — in  the 
original  plan  present  in  person  — - at  these  miraculous 


The  Second  Stanza  ( 15 1 1 — 15 1 2)  335 

events  of  past  ages,  and  he  has  before  him  the  vision  of 
Saint  Peter  set  free  from  his  chains. 

It  is  not  that  I seek  to  assimilate  the  two  Stanze  to  each 
other  in  all  respects,  especially  as  regards  the  emotions  they 
excite  in  us.  The  Segnatura  has  a poetry,  a loftiness  that 
nothing  equals;  we  seem  to  breathe  in  this  presence  those 
sweet  and  heady  perfumes  that  the  ancients  attributed  to 
the  Enchanted  Islands  far  away.  Under  the  variegated 
veil  of  an  enchanting  allegory  we  see  passing  before  us 
humanity  in  its  grandest  and  sublimest  thought  and  crea- 
tion, humanism  in  its  most  ideal  and  radiant  dream.  Quite 
different  is  the  impression  made  upon  us  by  the  Stanza  of 
Heliodorus.  Allegory  has  there  given  place  to  historic 
allusion,  and  in  place  of  humanity  and  humanism  we  wit- 
ness the  apotheosis  of  a man  and  a system.  Let  us, 
however,  recognise  this:  Raffaello  could  scarcely  dwell 
forever  in  the  empyrean  of  abstraction  and  sj'mbolism 
without  fatally  wasting  away  and  losing  himself;  historic 
painting  was  the  irresistible  destiny  of  his  genius;  devel- 
opment and  progress  could  be  secured  only  at  this  price  : 
at  this  price  were  the  immortal  cartoons  of  the  Acts. 

Progress  is  revealed  here,  first  of  all,  by  the  extraord- 
inary vivacity,  the  animation  of  scenes  and  of  persons  in 
this  new  cycle  of  frescos.  From  the  lyric  or  the  epic  of 
the  Segnatura,  the  style  has  become  in  the  highest  degree 
dramatic  in  the  second  Stanza.  The  crowd  in  an  ecstasy 
before  the  santo  Corporale  is  very  much  more  ardent  and 
excited  than  the  assembly  of  the  faithful  gathered  around 
the  monstrance  in  the  Disputa.  The  Punishment  of 
Heliodorus  is  a marvel  of  impetuosity  and  fire.  In  the 


336  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


Retreat  of  Attila , the  impetuosity  almost  becomes  turb- 
ulence, and  the  contest,  confusion.  Men,  horses,  and 
weapons  clash  and  smite  against  each  other;  the  soldiers 
stumble,  the  horses  rear,  maddened  with  terror;  the  sud- 
den storm  whistles  through  the  trees  and  the  banners. 
Fire,  ravage,  all  the  horrors  of  invasion  are  drawn  in 
strong,  throbbing  outlines.  Lastly,  in  the  Deliverance  of 
Saint  Peter , what  a dramatic  contrast  between  the  angel’s 
motion,  leading  out  Saint  Peter  almost  with  the  step  of  a 
somnambulist,  and  the  frantic  terror  of  the  guards  who, 
from  without,  hear  the  sound  of  the  opening  door,  and 
rush  madly  in  all  directions! 

Very  great  also,  and  important  to  note  in  the  new  Stanza, 
is  the  artist’s  progress  in  respect  to  colouring.  It  has 
been  justly  said:  “ Raffaello  is  not  a colourist  in  the  sense 
that  we  attribute  to  this  word, — and  thus  understood,  no 
painter  of  this  epoch  outside  the  Venetian  school  could 
be  described  by  this  title.”  1 But  it  is  marvellous  to  ob- 
serve how  Raffaello  seems,  as  if  by  chance  and  only  oc- 
casionally, to  happen  upon  expressive  and  harmonious 
colour,  and  what  persistent  and  very  remarkable  inequali- 
ties in  this  regard  his  work  presents.  Some  early  pictures 
of  his,  like  the  Saint  George , and  the  Belle  J ardiniere  of  the 
Louvre,  show  us  delicate,  transparent  gradations  of  tone,  a 
purity  and  happy  arrangement  in  the  strong  colours  of  the 
costumes,  an  exquisite  freshness  in  the  flesh  tints;  while 
others  (the  small  Holy  Family  of  the  Louvre,  for  example, 
and  the  Entombment  of  the  Borghese  Gallery)  have  only 
harsh,  inharmonious,  incoherent  tones.  Mature  age  and 
1 Émile  Michel,  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  15  juillet,  1887. 


The  Second  Stanza  (151 1— 1 5 1 2)  337 

the  full  expansion  of  talent  make  no  change  as  to  these 
singular  alternations  and  inconsistencies;  it  is  but  a step 
from  the  Parnassus , “ where  the  Elysian  softness  of  the 
aspect  enhances  the  charm  of  the  composition,”  and  we 
have  the  School  of  Athens,  with  its  odd  medley  of  crude, 
thin  tints;  with  prodigies  of  a brush  almost  Venetian  in 
the  Portrait  of  Leo  X.  and  the  Violin- Player,  we  have  the 
Holy  Family  of  Francis  I.,  the  Spasimo,  and  the  Trans - 
figuration,  those  paintings  with  metallic  high  lights,  of 
which  Sebastiano  del  Piombo  could  say  (with  hatred, 
doubtless,  but  not  without  some  reason)  that  they  seemed 
to  be  made  of  polished  metal,  bright  in  one  place,  and 
black  in  another.1 

It  cannot  be  denied,  however,  that,  in  this  second 
Stanza  of  Santi’ s,  we  find  ourselves  in  presence  of  a seri- 
ous and  systematic  attempt  to  search  out  all  the  elements 
of  the  picturesque,  and  employ  all  its  resources.  Not- 
withstanding its  dilapidated  condition,  the  fresco  of  Helio- 
dorus  shows  an  ingenious  combination  of  lights  in  the 
principal  nave  of  the  temple  receiving  the  full  light  of 
the  sky,  and  the  aisles  whose  darkness  is  relieved  by 
the  gleam  of  lamps.  The  enthusiastic  words  of  Vasari, 
speaking  of  the  chiaroscuro  in  the  Deliverance  of  Saint 
Peter,  are  familiar  to  every  one:  “As  concerns  the  imita- 
tion of  night,  painting  has  never  produced  a diviner  work, 
or  one  more  generally  appreciated.”  And  we  shall  not 
find  this  eulogy  exaggerated,  when  we  remember  that  the 
world  was  still  far,  in  1512,  from  Correggio’s  Holy  Night , 
and  that,  in  this  path,  Raffaello  had  no  predecessor  but 

1 Letter  of  Sebastiano  del  Piombo  to  Michelangelo,  July  2,  1518. 

22 


33&  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


Piero  della  Francesca.  But  chiefly  in  the  Mass  of  Bolsena 
is  it  given  us  to  measure  what  the  artist  coukl  attain  in 
plenitude,  brilliancy,  and  strength  of  colour-effects.  All 
is  alike  admirable  here:  the  harmony  of  tints,  the  grada- 
tions of  the  atmosphere,  the  luminous  manner  in  which 
the  figures  are  relieved  against  the  dark  curve  of  the  apse 
and  the  neutral  tone  of  the  marble  steps,  the  delicacy  of 
the  touches  blending  the  rich  ornaments  of  the  priests 
and  the  parti-coloured  costume  of  the  Swiss  Guard,  the 
red  of  cardinals’  mantles  and  the  white  of  priests’  surplices 
into  one  full  and  harmonious  chord;  a page  of  Titian,  one 
might  say,  but  with  loftiness  and  refinement  added. 

That  the  consummate  colourist  of  the  Mass  of  Bolsena 
could  so  often  afterwards  fall  back  into  the  painting  so 
sarcastically  commented  upon  by  Sebastian  del  Piombo  1 
would  be  absolutely  incomprehensible  did  we  not  know 

1 It  is  Springer,  if  I am  not  mistaken,  who  was  the  first  to  con- 
jecture a direct  influence,  not  to  say  a collaboration,  of  Sebastian 
del  Piombo  in  the  Stanza  of  Heliodorus.  The  hypothesis  has  since 
obtained  currency:  not  only  the  Mass  of  Bolsena , but  even  the 
Violin- Player,  and  the  so-called  Fornarina  of  the  Uffizi  Tribune 
now  pass,  in  Germany,  as  the  joint  works  of  Raffaello  and  Sebas- 
tiano. There  is  but  one  objection  to  make  to  this  singular  scaffold- 
ing of  suppositions,  but  it  is  peremptory— Sebastiano,  with  his 
man)T  letters  against  the  Urbinate  and  his  pupils,  never  speaks  of 
such  a collaboration  in  earlier  times,  and  certainly  would  not  have 
failed  to  speak  of  it,  and  to  attribute  to  himself  all  his  rival’s  success, 
after  the  example  of  Michelangelo,  whose  famous  saying  is  well 
known  : “All  that  Raffaello  knew  about  art  he  had  from  me.” 
That,  in  general,  Raffaello,  with  his  bee-like  instinct,  had  an  open 
mind  toward  the  art  of  a Sebastiano,  a Lorenzo  Lotto,  a Sodoma  (a 
Differ,  even,  was  not  out  of  his  range!),  admits  no  doubt,  and  in 
1511  he  was  greatly  attached  to  Giovanni  da  Udine,  who  came 
direct  from  the  atelier  of  Giorgione. 


Detail  of  Deliverance  of  S.  Peter 
( Raffaello) 


il  tnd  the  Renaissance 

sea.  But  chiefly  in  the  Mass  of  Bylsena 
ieasure  what  the  artPt  could  attain  in 
a • and  strength  ot  a >ur-effects.  All 
iiere:  the  harmony  of  tints,  the  grada- 
mele, the  luminous  manner  in  which 
iieved  against  the  dark  curve  of  the  apse 
. *■,.)  ;e  of  the  marble  steps,  the  delicacy  of 
lending  lise  ■ ■ ' laments  of  the  priests 

.ired  cost  . ae  Swiss  Guard,  the 

i aantles  an  .e  of  priests’  surplices 

larmouios;  a page  of  Titian,  one 

, ith  lof tines.  cement  added. 

' su  inmate  ».  lo  ■ Ifass  of  Bolscna 

afterwar  the  painting  so 

jinment  u del  Piombo  1 

»:  s.siPie  did  we  not  know 

as  the  first  to  con- 
> ration,  of  Sebastian 
p.o thesis  has  since 
• >ia,  but  even  the 
...  - Hi  ■ of  the  Uffizi  Tribune 

. . . ' * ' ol  Raffaello  and  Sebas- 

, T.  • tV'*  ■ to  this  singular  scaffold- 

r-  Sebastiano,  with  his 

, ...  . ie.  ' >•*«  hi  pupils,  never  speaks  of 

-i  „i  ij  C-e#  u ».  a!  rtainly  would  not  have 

tailed  to  speak  of  it,  an  . ih..*rtO  1 an  elf  all  bis  rival’s  success, 

a e'  the  example  of  . ! ;.  . s -.vbose  famous  saying  is  well 

kf"  ■»  .'."-it  art  he  had  from  me.” 
I : r • Like  instinct,  had  an  open 
;.»  .s»ti»  a . »ien  o Lmto,  a Sodoma  (a 
*u«  ,uk-,!  admits  no  doubt,  and  in 

ne,  who  came 

hhthMI  .8  to  ao5t/.«avuaa  to  jiathCI 

(CU-IHATOA  H) 


The  Second  Stanza  (1511-1512)  339 

how  great  was  the  share  of  Giulio  Romano  and  the  other 
pupils  in  Raffaello’ s work,  after  a certain  date.  Here  we 
touch  upon  the  side  of  Santi’s  work  most  open  to  discus- 
sion and  most  to  be  regretted:  I speak  of  the  unfortunate 
system  of  collaboration  which  began  in  this  year  1512,  and 
in  this  second  Vatican  room.  Urged  by  the  impatience 
and  the  visibly  declining  health  of  the  Rigurian  Pope,  de- 
sirous to  execute  as  quickly  as  possible,  for  the  patron, 
the  proud  programme  made  out  in  September  of  the  pre- 
ceding year— a programme  which  the  events  of  each  day 
were  so  miraculously  converting  into  facts,  the  painter  of 
the  Stanza  had  recourse  to  assistants,  and  more  and  more 
gave  over  to  them  the  actual  work,  reserving  for  him- 
self only  its  careful  supervision  and,  in  case  of  need,  its 
correction.  Signor  Cavalcasene  detects  another’s  hand 
in  the  group  of  women  in  the  Mass  of  Bolseiia;  in  the 
Punishment  of  Heliodorus  the  work  of  Giulio  Romano  and 
Giovanni  da  Udine  is  conspicuous,  and  it  constantly  ex- 
tends in  the  frescos  which  follow.  Under  the  pontificate 
of  Reo  X.,  not  one  of  the  paintings  that  bore  Raffaello’ s 
name  was  the  result  of  his  single,  personal  work. 

A charming  stucco  by  Giovanni  da  Udine,  in  the 
splendid  Roggia  which  has  “ Raffaello’ s Bible,”  repre- 
sents the  gentle  Santi  with  his  young  followers,  “ the 
Synagogue,”  as  Sebastian  del  Piombo  ironically  called  it 
in  writing  to  Michelangelo.  A half-dozen  garzoni  are 
seen  grinding  colours,  pricking  and  tracing  the  cartoons, 
or  painting  upon  the  walls;  above,  one  sees  the  elegant 
head  of  the  master  of  the  school:  he  is  seated,  and  is 
drawing,  holding  the  framed  paper  on  his  knee;  quite 


340  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


below  in  a kind  of  mandorla , Fame  is  proclaiming  with 
sound  of  trumpet,  the  excellence  of  the  work.  It  is  a 
fascinating  sketch,  all  filled  with  the  joy  of  being  alive, 
the  ardour  of  work,  and  that  union  of  hearts  celebrated  in 
terms  so  sincere  by  the  painter-historian  of  Arezzo.  Who 
of  us,  however,  does  not  prefer  the  Raffaello  of  the  Dis- 
puta and  of  the  Mass  of  Bolsena , to  the  Raffaello  of  the 
third  Stanza  and  of  the  Farnesina?  The  words  of  Vasari 
will  remain  eternally  true:  “The  best-drawn  cartoons  can 
never  be  well  executed  except  by  the  hand  of  him  who 
invented  them.’’  1 

1 Vasari,  Vite,  ed.  Sansoni,  p.  636. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


the;  epilogue  of  the;  vault  (“1512”) 

1 

One;  day,  coming  out  of  the  Vatican  Palace,  Michel- 
angelo chanced  to  meet  Raffaello,  surrounded  by  a group 
of  his  stuaents,  crossing  the  piazza  di  San  Pietro.  “With 
your  band,  like  a bravo!”  sneered  Buonarroti.  “And 
you,  alone,  like  the  hangman!  ” was  young  Santi’s  cruel 
retort.  The  scene,  as  related  by  Eomazzo,  is  very  strik- 
ing; I believe  it  true,  whatever  has  been  said  to  the  con- 
trary, and  I should  even  go  so  far  as  to  date  it, — namely, 
in  the  last  year  that  Michelangelo  spent  under  the  Sistine 
vault,  his  anno  terribile .' 

He  was  indeed  alone,  alone  and  desolate  as  that  Jere- 
miah whose  grand,  tragic  type  he  had  just  created.  With 
the  author  of  the  Lamentations,  he  could  say  also:  “ My 
eyes  do  fail  with  tears;  my  heart  is  poured  upon  the 
earth,  for  the  destruction  of  the  daughter  of  my  people.”  2 

1 Earlier  than  this,  Raffaello  had  not  the  train  of  students  of 
which  Lomazzo  speaks,  and  after  1512,  Michelangelo  was  no  longer 
at  work  in  the  Vatican.  Lomazzo  was  a contemporary  of  Buonar- 
roti, and  his  story  is  doubted  only  by  those  among  our  modern 
writers  who  persist,  in  the  face  of  all  evidence,  in  denying  that 
hostility  of  any  kind  existed  between  the  two  great  artists. 

3 Lament.,  ii.,  n. 


341 


342 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


He  was  again  at  work  in  the  chapel,  after  the  short  in- 
terruption during  the  month  of  August,  1511,  when,  on 
the  23rd  of  September,  Julius  II.  suddenly  laid  an  in- 
terdict upon  Florence,  in  punishment  for  her  complicity 
in  the  schismatic  council  of  Pisa  and  her  sympathies, 
which  were  always  with  the  French.  The  following  week 
the  Cardinal  Giovanni  de’  Medici  (the  future  Leo  X.) 
was  appointed  the  Pope’s  legate  at  the  army  of  the  Holy 
League,  and  the  mere  name,  the  situation  being  what  it 
was,  was  a menace  to  the  very  existence  of  republican  gov- 
ernment on  the  banks  of  the  Arno.  The  game  of  politics 
[il giuoco  del  mondo)  had  reached  combinations  unforeseen 
and  nearly  incredible — a Rovere  giving  a place  of  honour 
to  a Medici,  the  nephew  of  Sixtus  IV.  preparing  the  way 
for  the  return  of  the  son  of  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent  into 
the  city  of  Savonarola!  In  that  city,  where  memories  of 
the  conspiracy  of  the  Pazzi  were  still  so  vivid, — they  have 
remained  so  up  to  this  day,— it  was  long  before  men 
could  bring  themselves  to  believe  that  an  event  so  mon- 
strous had  taken  place. 

The  gonfalonier  Soderini,  a man  who  had  never  had 
other  wish  than  to  preserve  neutrality  between  the  Sover- 
eign Pontiff  and  the  Most  Christian  King,  did  his  utmost 
to  appease  the  great  wrath  of  the  Vatican,  and  the  win- 
ter of  1511-1512  passed  in  alternations  of  fear  and  hope, 
according  to  the  march  of  events  on  the  stage  of  the  war  ; 
according  to  this  march,  also,  the  Pope  now  raised,  now 
reasserted,  his  interdict  upon  the  country  of  Michelangelo. 
In  the  spring  of  T512,  the  brilliant  successes  of  Gaston  de 
Foix  appeared  to  remove  all  danger;  the  battle  of  Ra- 


The  Epilogue  of  the  Vault  (1512)  343 

venna  might  even  be  regarded  as  a final  deliverance.  It 
was  nothing  of  the  kind,  however,  and  the  month  of 
January  saw  the  sudden  and  complete  downfall  of  the 
French  power  in  the  Italian  peninsula.  As  the  Holy  Al- 
liance, in  1821,  had  its  Congress  of  Laibach,  so  the  Holy 
League,  in  1512,  had  its  Congress  of  Mantua,  a congress 
of  restoration  and  legitimacy,  which  decreed  the  return 
of  the  Sforze  to  Milan  and  the  Medici  to  Florence. 
Of  course  the  Medici  asked  only  to  return  peacefully  to 
their  homes  as  simple  citizens;  but  no  one  was  deceived  by 
this  hypocritical  moderation,  and  the  unhappy  Republic 
thought  only  of  armed  resistance  to  the  invader,  Don 
Ramon  de  Cardone,  Captain-General  of  the  Holy  League. 
Vain  efforts!  The  sack  of  Prato  (August  29th)  quickly 
demonstrated  the  superiority  of  Cardone’ s veterans  over 
the  Tuscan  militia,  the  ordinanza  that  Macchiavelli  had 
hastily  organised  with  no  less  zeal  than  self-deception. 
The  Spanish  soldiery  committed  frightful  atrocities  in  the 
beautiful  little  city  watered  by  the  Bisenzo  and  rendered 
famous  by  so  many  masterpieces  of  Donatello  and  Fra 
Lippo  Lippi;  and  the  evening  of  that  day,  Cardinal  Gio- 
vanni could  write  to  the  Pope:  “The  taking  of  Prato, 
though  cruel  and  causing  me  much  displeasure,  will 
have  at  least  this  good  result,  that  it  will  serve  as  a terrific 
warning  to  the  others.’’  He  was  not  mistaken;  the  sack 
of  Prato  had  sounded  the  knell  of  the  splendid  Florentine 
Republic.1 

1 Cardinal  Giovanni  to  the  Pope,  ap.  Sanuto,  August  29,  15x2. 
Jacopo  Guicciardini  writes  to  his  brother,  the  celebrated  historian  : 
Furono  vituperate  le  donne  e taglieggiate , mandando  a bordello 


344 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


In  a letter  addressed  by  Michelangelo  to  his  family  at 
the  beginning  of  the  summer  of  15 12/  occurs  this  curious 
passage:  “ Do  not  be  surprised  that  I do  not  write  you 
more  frequently.  I cannot.  And  you , on  your  part , do 
not  write  me  too  much  during  the  time  that  I have  still  to 
remain  here.”  He  assigns  the  singular  reason  that  he 
has  no  one  who  will  take  charge  of  his  letters;  but  the 
true  reason  can  easily  be  guessed. 

In  general,  during  this  year  of  anguish,  Buonarroti 
preserves  a significant  silence  in  regard  to  men  and  things 
• — no  mention  of  the  Pope,  of  the  Council  of  the  Rateran, 
of  the  battle  of  Ravenna,  etc.  Once  only  he  alludes  to 
the  interdict,  at  that  moment  taken  off,  and  the  allusion 
is  slightly  ironical:  “ I learn,”  he  writes,  “ that  you  are 
again  blessed  pribenedetti) , and  I am  glad  to  hear  it.” 
Twice,  also,  he  speaks  of  the  anxiety  ( sospetto ) that  is  felt 
in  Rome,  of  ‘‘the  peril”  anticipated  for  Florence,  but 
making  no  further  explanation  and  only  praying  God  to 
turn  away  the  calamity.  He  speaks  much,  however,  of 
his  ardent  desire  to  bring  his  work  to  an  end  as  soon  as 
possible,  to  leave  Rome,  and  return  to  his  own  people  ; he 
hopes  he  may  be  able  to  do  this  in  three  months,  in  two 
months.  “ I am  more  exhausted  ( stento ) than  man  ever 
was;  I am  ill  and  suffer  greatly;  still,  I have  patience  to 
attain  the  desired  end  ” (July  24th).  . . . “ I hasten  my 

tutti  i munisteri  (Guicciardini,  Opere  inedite , voi.  vi.,  p.  95).  The 
beautiful  exterior  pulpit  of  Donatello  of  the  Cathedral  of  Prato 
still  bears  traces  of  the  terrible  sack  of  1512. 

1 The  letter  begins  : Io  stimo  aver  finito  quà  infra  due  mese; 
Milanesi’s  conjectural  date  is  therefore  quite  impossible.  For  the 
quotations  that  follow,  see  Lettere , pp.  38,  40,  46,  48,  104,  106-8. 


The  Epilogue  of  the  Vault  (1512)  345 

work  as  much  as  I can,  for  it  seems  to  me  that  I have 
already  been  here  a thousand  years”  (August  21st). 

The  tragedy  of  Prato  breaks  through  his  reserve,  and 
wrings  from  him  a cry  of  despair;  he  adjures  his  family  to 
abandon  houses,  goods,  property,  and  seek  refuge  in  some 
safe  place,  in  Siena,  for  instance.  ‘‘Do  as  is  done  in 
time  of  pestilence — flee!”  Thirteen  days  later  all  is 
over,  and  order  reigns  in  Florence;  it  is  Giuliano,1  the 
younger  brother  of  Cardinal  Giovanni,  who  represents 
order  there,  and  the  artist  writes  again  (September  14th): 
“ I hear  it  said  that  the  Medici  are  again  in  Florence,  and 
that  order  has  been  restored,  from  which  I conclude  that 
all  danger  from  the  Spaniards  has  passed.  . . . There- 

fore remain  in  peace.  Make  no  friendships  or  intimacies 
with  any  one  but  the  Almighty  alone.  Speak  neither 
good  nor  evil  of  any  one,  because  the  end  of  these  things 
cannot  yet  be  known.  Attend  only  to  your  own  affairs.” 
These  wise  counsels  the  poor  artist  himself  has  not  fol- 
lowed completely;  he  has  talked  inconsiderately:  this  is 
known  in  Florence,  and  his  father  warns  him.  The  un- 
happy son  replies  as  best  he  can:  “ With  regard  to  the 
Medici,  I have  never  spoken  against  them  except  in  that 
manner  in  which  they  are  universally  spoken  of  by  all 
men,  with  regard  to  the  affairs  of  Prato,  of  which,  if  the 
stones  could  speak,  they  would  cry  out.” 

Misery  and  humiliation  ! To  protect  his  old  father  from 
being  harassed  by  the  new  government,  he  is  soon 
obliged  to  address  himself  to  this  Giuliano  de’  Medici, 

1 The  same  whose  statue  Michelangelo,  later,  made  for  the 
Medicean  mausoleum. 


346  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


making  appeal  to  their  acquaintance  in  boyhood.  “Dear 
father,”  he  wrote  on  this  occasion,  “ by  your  last  letter  I 
learn  how  affairs  are  going  with  you,  which  before  I 
knew  in  part.  We  must  have  patience,  and  commend 
ourselves  to  God,  and  try  to  acknowledge  our  errors,  for 
which  and  for  no  other  reason,  this  adversity  has  befallen 
us,  and  especially  for  pride  and  ingratitude.  I never  have 
known  a people  so  proud  and  ungrateful  as  the  Floren- 
tines, so  that  justice  overtakes  them  with  good  reason.” 
(He  thought  of  Savonarola  and  of  Soderini,  so  quickly 
abandoned!)  “ I will  write  two  lines  to  Giuliano  de’ 
Medici,  which  w'ill  be  enclosed  in  this.  Read  them,  and, 
if  you  like,  take  them  to  him,  and  you  will  see  whether 
they  will  benefit  you.  If  they  do  not,  think  how  you 
can  sell  our  possessions  and  we  will  go  elsewhere  to  live. 

. . . If  you  are  not  to  share  in  the  honours  of  the  world 
like  other  citizens,  it  is  enough  to  have  bread,  and  to  live 
in  the  faith  of  Christ,  even  as  I do  here,  for  I live 
meanly  ( ' meschinament §|,  nor  do  I care  for  the  life  or  the 
honours  of  this  world.  I endure  great  weariness  and 
hopelessness,  as  it  has  been  with  me  fifteen  years,  never 
an  hour’s  comfort!” 

And  while  the  painter  of  the  Sistine  Chapel  was  writing 
these  sad  lines,  all  about  him  was  joy,  gayety,  and 
triumph!  Festivals,  illuminations,  sumptuous  banquets, 
and  popular  rejoicings  were  endless  in  Rome;  and  from 
the  most  distant  regions  of  the  peninsula — from  Milan, 
Genoa,  Modena,  Parma,  Bologna,  Ravenna — came  deput- 
ations to  salute  Julius  II.  as  the  Liberator  of  Italy;  Raf- 
faello extolled  him  in  the  Stanza  of  Heliodorus,  Peruzzi 


The  Epilogue  of  the  Vault  (1512)  347 

resuscitated,  to  do  him  honour,  in  one  of  the  halls  of  the 
Capitol,  the  glories  of  the  Punic  War. 

Oh!  how  solitary  and  unhappy  he  was  — the  great 
Florentine  painter,  in  his  Vatican  chapel!  1 

ii 

The  mediaeval  painters  represented  with  great  diversity, 
but  always  with  splendour,  those  ancestors  of  Christ 
whose  long  enumeration — from  Abraham  to  Jesse  and 
David,  and  from  David  to  Joseph  and  Mary — is  given  us  in 
the  first  chapter  of  the  Gospel  of  S.  Matthew,  the  Liber 
generationis.  In  the  Cathedral  of  Monreale,  the  ancestors 
of  the  Ford  fill  twenty-three  splendid  medallions  with  gold 
background,  all  around  the  presbytery;  in  the  Venetian 
Basilica,  they  form  a great  genealogical  tree,  rising  from 
branch  to  branch  till  we  see,  at  the  summit,  the  child 
Jesus  held  in  His  mother’s  arms;  elsewhere,  upon  portals 
and  in  painted  windows  of  Gothic  churches,  they  stand 
majestic  with  diadems  and  sceptres,  as  heads  of  nations. 
The  Byzantine  Hermeneia  2 makes  a difference,  indeed,  in 

1 Michelangelo’s  share  in  the  insurrection  of  1529,  against  the 
Medici,  is  well  known.  Again,  in  1544,  under  the  reign  of  the 
Grand  Duke  Cosmo,  the  artist  bade  Ruberto  Strozzi  to  say  from 
him  to  Francis  I.,  that  if  his  Most  Christian  Majesty  would  “re- 
store liberty  to  Florence,”  he,  Buonarroti,  would  engage  to  erect  to 
him  with  his  own  hands  and  at  his  own  expense  a bronze  equestrian 
statue  in  the  piazza  (Gaye,  Carteggio , voi.  ii.,  p.  296). — “A  king- 
dom for  a horse  ! ’ ’ 

2 The  Hermeneia  is  the  famous  Guide  to  sacred  painting  that 
was  discovered  by  Monsieur  Didron  in  one  of  the  monasteries  of 
Mount  Athos  and  has  been  published  under  the  title  of  Manual 
of  Christian  Iconography  (see  pp.  124-129).  See  also  Coblet, 


348  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


S.  Matthew’s  list,  between  patriarchs,  kings,  and  those 
that  the  manual  calls  simply  “the  righteous”  (Aminadab, 
Booz,  Matthan,  etc.);  but  the  sculptors  and  makers  of  re- 
ligious pictures  in  Western  Europe  insisted  strongly  upon 
the  royal  and  illustrious  origin  of  the  holy  pair  at  Naz- 
areth. The  cathedrals  of  Chartres,  Amiens,  Rheims,  and 
many  others  exhibit  rows  of  these  personages,  all  wearing 
crowns,  — and  hence  wrongly  taken  for  Merovingian 
kings, — who  are  the  “ Kings  of  the  House  of  Judah,” 
and  ancestors  of  the  “ Queen  of  Heaven.” 

In  contradiction  to  the  tradition  so  widely  adopted,  the 
Genealogy  of  the  Lord  in  the  Sistine  Chapel 1 offers  only 
types  of  humble  life— men  of  rustic  aspect  and  dress, 
women  wearing  the  fazzoletto  of  the  Campagna,  bare- 
footed, and  having  in  their  hands  scissors,  knitting-work, 
or  the  spindle.  The  stately  names  of  David,  Solomon, 
Rehoboam,  Hezekiah,  Josiah,  on  the  tablets  of  the  win- 
dows are  there  only  for  mementos2;  Michelangelo  con- 
ceived the  statement  of  the  Liber  generationis  in  a sense 
altogether  symbolic,  transcendent.  “The  poor  and  hum- 
ble are  the  true  family  of  Christ,”  said  Savonarola;  and 
it  is  a succession  of  these  humble  generations  that  we  see 
represented  in  the  eight  tympana,  the  triangular  spaces 
which  are  over  the  lunettes  of  the  windows.  In  poverty 

Étude  sur  l 'arbre  de  Jesse , p.  6 et  seq.  ; and  upon  the  sculptures  of 
the  cathedrals  of  Chartres,  Amiens,  and  others.  Wilhelm  Vòge, 
Monumentaler  Stil  im  Mittelalter,  pp.  165-190. 

1 Genealogia  del  Salvatore  (Condivi);  Genealogia  di  Gesù  Christo 
(Vasari.) 

2 The  tablets  give  no  female  name,  although  the  woman  is  always 
the  principal  figure  in  each  one  of  the  groups  of  Ancestors,  as  is 
the  Virgin  in  every  picture  of  the  Holy  Family. 


| 

■ 


i 


The  Ancestors  of  Christ 


XHR  V»rcK8JiOKS&  OK  C HffIRX 


• . ! < { the  Renaissance 

v patriarchs,  Hogs,  and  those 

1 ie  righteous”  (Aminadab, 
ulptors  and  makers  of  re- 
. ■ c insisted  strongly  upon 

: > .f  the  holy  pair  at  Naz- 

i Amiens,  Rheims,  and 
■••rsouages,  all  wearing 
for  Merovingian 
: louse  of  Judah,” 
«.>•:  the  ‘"vies  ■ Heaven.” 

idely  adopted,  the 
lapel 1 offers  only 
aspect  and  dress, 
Campagna,  bare- 
ors,  knitting-work, 
h:s  of  David,  Solomon, 

. tablets  of  the  win- 
- ; Michelangelo  con- 
rationis  in  a sense 
; • vii.  “ The  poor  and  hum- 

• . said  Savonarola;  and 

- assion  o ii’ese  . " hie  generations  that  we  see 

ire  triangular  spaces 
• ,-r  t\  a-  • - vindows.  In  poverty 

ui  upon  the  sculptures  of 

ils  of  >.  ■-  Amies:  and  others.  Wilhelm  Voge, 

t-:  n taler  Stil  im  Miti  doli  r,  pp.  165-190. 

; logia  del  Sui:  n 0 ) \ C->n  ilogia  di  Gesù  Christo 

I tablets  give  ik  (Vis  tie  name,  ii  though  the  woman  is  always 
principal  figure  in  each  one  of  the  groups  of  Ancestors,  as  is 
A Virgin  in  ever}  : ■ 1 . if  the  Holy  Family. 


/ 


' 

\ 

I 


; 


! 


i 

i 


I 


The  Epilogue  of  the  Vault  (1512)  349 

and  distress  and  vain  expectation  have  they  awaited  the 
coming  of  that  Messiah  whom  prophets  and  sibyls  an- 
nounced so  many  centuries  ago.  The  suffering  has  been 
great  and  they  are  very  weary:  Quia  temples,  est  miserendi 
Sion , quia  venit  tempus. 

A thought  not  less  original  and  subtle  is  that  each  one 
of  these  generations  is  imagined  as  a prefiguration  of  the 
Holy  Family,  a group  typically  formed  of  three  persons — 
the  woman  very  young,  the  man  much  older,  the  child  a 
very  young  bambino.  Poor,  suffering,  weary  family,  where 
even  the  child  seems  to  have  forgotten  how  to  smile  ! The 
expression  varies  from  one  group  to  another,  but  remains 
always  sad,  running  through  the  whole  gamut  of  suffer- 
ing, from  resigned  endurance  to  the  extreme  of  depression 
and  prostration  . S.  Matthew’s  list  thus  unfolds  itself  be- 
fore us  in  a touching  picture  of  the  human  soul,  of  the 
soul  of  “ the  righteous,”  on  the  eve  of  the  Ford’s  nativity. 

The  eye  passes,  in  general,  too  rapidly  over  these 
paintings  which  are,  however,  so  remarkable  for  variety 
of  expression,  for  splendour  of  type,  and  for  skilful  con- 
struction of  the  ensemble.  What  an  accent  of  gloom  and 
sadness  in  this  woman  who  is  relieved,  sculptural  and 
as  if  petrified,  against  the  darkness  of  the  first  tympanum 
near  the  altar,  on  the  right!  How  tragic  the  masque 
of  the  widow  with  the  two  fatherless  children  in  the 
picture  which  bears  the  name  Rehoboam:  it  is  like  the 
head  of  a Medea  ! How  poignant  the  despair  of  this  other 
widow,  opposite,  who,  bent  double,  crushed,  as  it  were, 
remains  insensible  to  the  timid  caresses  of  the  two  poor 
little  creatures  at  her  side  ! Less  tearful,  but  more  touch- 


350 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


ing,  perhaps,  is  this  workwoman  with  her  great  shears, 
whose  slightly  Semitic  features  and  bent  head  remind  one 
of  the  Pietà  in  S.  Peter’s.  And  how  charming  the 
baby,  quite  nude,  who  watches  his  mother’s  work  with 
naive  curiosity!  What  a charm,  in  general,  the  artist 
has  diffused  over  all  these  children,  sad  and  unsmiling  as 
they  are!  Remark  especially  in  those  of  them  who  are 
asleep  or  tired,  how  the  supple,  flexible  body  follows  the 
curves  of  the  mother’s  breast  to  which  they  cling!  This 
is  a motif  very  original,  very  personal  with  Michelangelo; 
you  will  find  it  neither  in  Titian’s  paintings,  nor  in  Cor- 
reggio’s.1 As  we  go  farther  away  from  the  altar,  and 
farther  back  in  date,  the  groups  of  the  tympana  are  more 
tranquil  more  developed,  and  more  stately;  the  last,  on 
the  right  nearest  the  door  (between  the  Isaiah  and  the 
Delphica ),  is  a marvel  of  pathetic  grace  and  picturesque 
composition.  The  admirable  villanella , all  in  white,  with 
the  child  in  her  arms,  is  truly  the  most  beautiful  female 
figure  that  ever  came  from  the  hand  of  Buonarroti;  what 
noble  languor  in  the  face,  what  majesty  in  the  bearing! 
The  superb  pose  of  the  husband,  too,  lying  upon  the 
ground  wearied  out  with  the  heat  and  burden  of  the 
day!  I know  no  Holy  Family  or  Repose  in  Egypt 
which,  in  beauty  of  sentiment  and  of  design  is  equal  to 
this  group,  entitled  Josiah.  Andrea  del  Sarto  was  visibly 
inspired  by  it  in  his  Madonna  del  Sacco. 

1 But  you  will  find  it  in  certain  small  Holy  Families  in  the  Roman 
galleries  (Doria,  Corsini,  and  the  former  Sciarra  Gallery),  all  works 
of  the  pupils  of  Buonarroti  (Venusti  and  others),  as  well  as  in  the 
Carità  of  Andrea  del  Sarto  (in  the  Louvre).  This  painter  has 
profited  much  by  the  Sistine  vault. 


The  Epilogue  of  the  Vault  (1512)  351 


And  Michelangelo  himself  — the  Michelangelo  of  other 
days  and  all  other  work — is  scarcely  to  be  recognised  here, 
in  this  Liber generationis  of  the  tympana.  The  subject  is 
emotional,  yet  there  is  no  violence  in  the  attitudes,  no  im- 
petuosity in  the  gestures;  nor  is  there  exuberance  in  the 
figures  or  display  of  anatomical  knowledge,  and  nudity  is 
the  privilege  of  the  children  only.  A surprising  phe- 
nomenon, almost  unique  in  Buonarroti’s  work,  are  these 
figures  of  a poetry  so  intimate  and  so  intense,  these 
compositions  of  a simplicity  so  epic!  After  the  vertigos 
of  the  ceiling,  the  dazzling  splendour  of  the  Ignudi  and 
the  formidable  grandeur  of  Prophets  and  Sibyls,  the  eyes 
rest  delighted,  refreshed,  tranquillised,  on  these  triangu- 
lar compositions,  where  all  is  harmony  and  peace  and 
equilibrium. 

On  the  other  hand,  all  is  confusion,  obscurity,  and  dis- 
order in  the  paintings  below  them,  and  it  is  certainly  a 
mistake  to  regard  these  as  a continuation  of  the  Lord’s 
genealogy.  How  strange  are  the  interiors  and  genre 
scenes  in  most  of  these  lunettes  surrounding  the  windows! 
You  will  see  a mother  preparing  to  wash  her  child  ; a feeble 
pilgrim,  who  rises  with  difficulty  and  resumes  his  staff; 
an  old  woman  busy  at  her  wheel;  a tall  old  man,  slender 
and  bent,  who  is  writing  something  on  his  knee;  a 
woman  attentively  looking  at  herself  in  a small  mirror 
which  she  holds  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand  ; a tall  young 
fellow  stretching  out  his  legs  before  a reading-desk;  a 
young  girl  at  her  toilette;  and  others  even  more  ec- 
centric. This  is  sheer  improvisation,  impromptu;  we  slip 
into  a commedia  dell'  arte , with  its  rustic  figures;  observe 


352 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


that  tall,  uncouth  fellow  in  the  white  trousers  and  white 
cloak,  with  his  big,  staring  eyes.  Vainly  one  seeks  for 
the  general  idea  which  presided  in  the  composition  of 
episodes  so  incongruous;  involuntarily  we  think  of  one  of 
those  note-books  where  an  artist  jots  down  with  rapid 
pencil  whatever  strikes  his  alert  imagination,  his  eye  in 
quest  of  forms,  and  we  ask  ourselves  whether  these  are 
not  the  leaves  from  such  a note-book  that  we  have  here 
before  us — leaves  torn  out  by  the  master’s  hand  and  trans- 
ferred to  this  space  of  wall  hastily  and  just  as  they  came. 

In  haste  he  was,  we  know;  for  he  was  suffering  a very 
martyrdom;  he  had  madness  in  his  heart  and  death  in  his 
soul;  he  was  hearing  the  sound  of  the  footsteps  of  Car- 
done’s  soldiers,  the  cry  of  the  massacred  at  Prato,  the 
death-rattle  of  his  murdered  country. 

The  storm  dreaded  for  so  many  months  since  the  in- 
terdict pronounced  against  Florence  in  September,  1511, 
had  at  last  broken  forth  in  the  spring  of  the  year  1512, 
while  the  artist  was  engaged  in  painting  the  lunettes  of 
the  vault.1  What  these  lunettes  were  intended  to  be,  in 
their  author’s  original  design,  certain  compositions  on  the 
eastern  side,  so  different  from  those  that  follow,  give  us 
some  faint  glimpse.  The  admirable  youth  (of  the  same 
race  with  the  Ignudi ) near  the  arms  of  Julius  II.  below 
the  Zachariah!  The  stately  old  man  with  long,  floating 
beard,  like  the  portraits  of  Titian  in  extreme  age,  in  the 

1 Michelangelo  evidently  worked  at  the  tympana  during  the 
winter  of  1511-12.  He  had  at  that  time  so  serious  anxiety  in  re- 
gard to  Florence  that  his  cartoons  were  prepared  in  advance  (see 
his  letter  to  Fattacci,  ed.  Milanesi,  pp.  427-428).  He  must  have 
begun  upon  the  lunettes  about  the  time  of  the  battle  of  Ravenna. 


The  Epilogue  of  the  Vault  (1512)  353 

first  semicircle  on  the  left  of  the  entrance  ! The  impos- 
ing matron  with  a veil,  in  the  third  semicircle,  also  on  the 
left;  and,  in  the  fourth,  the  graceful  woman  leaning  on 
her  elbow,  whose  head  would  do  honour  to  Correggio  ! If 
you  follow  out  this  examination,  you  will  meet  other  fig- 
ures of  a style  no  less  masterly.  Continued  in  this  style  to 
the  end,  the  lunettes  would  have  formed  a decorative  hall, 
so  to  speak,  incomparably  fine,  a magnificent  substructure 
to  the  hypaethral  temple  rising  above,  with  its  Genesis  and 
its  Prophets  and  Ancestors  of  Christ.  But  the  nearer  you 
come  towards  the  altar,  the  more  the  painting  becomes 
careless,  the  study  from  life  ceases,  the  invention  be- 
comes confused,  diffuse,  and  unshapely.  The  truth  of 
the  painter’s  own  words,  in  his  letter  to  his  brother,  July 
24th,  becomes  evident:  “ I am  more  exhausted  than  man 
ever  was;  I am  ill,  and  suffering  greatly.” 

He  was  eager  to  leave  Rome  and  go  home  to  his  own 
people;  he  wished  to  finish  the  volta  at  any  price,  “caring 
neither  for  honour  nor  for  the  world,”  nor  even  for  his 
art!  To  fill  the  yawning  void  of  these  semicircles,  he 
took  whatever  came  to  hand,  whatever  crossed  his  mind,  so 
fevered,  so  tortured  ! “I  hasten  my  work  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, for  it  seems  to  me  as  if  I had  been  here  a thousand 
years,”  he  wrote  (August  21st).  But  his  diligence  and 
his  summary  procedures  were  in  vain  ; when  he  was  at  last 
able  to  come  down  from  his  “ bridge  ” that  had  become 
his  Calvary,  the  great  iniquity  had  been  consummated 
some  weeks  before,  and  Florence  enslaved  forever. 

It  was  an  abrupt  and  very  disappointing  conclusion  of 
five  years  of  superhuman  labour!  Let  us  not  deceive 

*3 


354 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


ourselves,  however  ; in  these  lunettes  before  us  there  is  still 
something  more  than  the  painful  and  hurried  labour  of  an 
artist  a prey  to  patriotic  anguish;  there  is  also  the  con- 
vulsive laugh,  the  sardonic  sneer  of  a mind  that  knows 
itself  superior  to  a crushing  world  and  will  not  refuse 
itself  the  bitter  satisfaction  of  setting  that  world  at  de- 
fiance. Do  you  doubt  this?  But  look  at  those  last 
strokes  of  Buonarroti’s  brush  upon  the  Sistine  vault,  the 
novissima  verba  of  Savonarola’s  disciple — those  ten  child- 
ren placed  as  painted  caryatides  at  the  feet  of  the  pro- 
phets and  sibyls  and  holding  up  tablets.  These  ten 
children  are  absolutely  frightful,  and  are  intentionally 
made  so.  They  are  not  only  morose,  stunted,  grimacing, 
but  often  hideous  in  the  full  meaning  of  the  word;  nota- 
bly a girl  (for  the  delicate  and  tender  sex  as  well  as  the 
other  is  turned  into  derision),  the  little  girl  who  holds 
the  tablet  with  the  name  of  Jeremiah,  is  an  object  truly 
repulsive.  And  yet  it  is  the  same  master  who,  some 
months  earlier,  painted  the  graceful  bimbi  of  the  tympana, 
not  to  speak  of  the  putti  in  flat  tints  of  earlier  days,  and 
the  sublime  Ignudi  of  the  ceiling! 

What  did  contemporaries  say  to  these  lunettes?  Very 
probably  the  same  word  that  Vasari  uses,  the  word 
caprìcci , which,  in  the  days  of  Julius  II.  and  Deo  X.,  in- 
cluded and  legitimated  so  many  things,  from  Raffaello’s 
dainty  fancies  for  a drop  scene  to  the  insipid  buffooneries 
of  the  despicable  frate  Mariano.  The  Rovere  doubtless 
did  not  think  otherwise;  he  was,  moreover,  so  delighted 
to  see  filled  the  sad  gaps  of  the  preceding  year,  so  happy  to 
be  able  at  last  to  show  his  chapel  to  the  guests  assembled 


The  Epilogue  of  the  Vault  (1512)  355 

for  his  Council  and  his  entertainments!  Before  the  daz- 
zling splendour,  now  completely  unveiled,  of  the  testudo — 
to  use  Albertini’s  word  in  his  Mirabilia — what  mattered  a 
few  capricci  more  or  less  successful  ? The  only  observa- 
tion that  we  hear  of  the  Pope’s  making  to  the  artist,  after 
the  removal  of  the  “ bridge,”  referred  to  the  incomplete 
condition  of  certain  gildings  in  the  ceiling.  But  Mi- 
chelangelo had  no  idea  of  having  the  scaffolding  recon- 
structed, so  that  he  might  complete  them;  and,  pointing 
to  the  Patriarchs,  the  Prophets , and  the  Righteous  Men 
of  the  vault:  “ Those  who  are  painted  there  were  poor,” 
he  said.  The  Pope  was  obliged  to  be  contented  with  this 
response,  this  burla,  as  Condivi  calls  it.1 

11  Dearest  Father,”  Michelangelo  wrote  about  this  time 
to  Budovico  Buonarroti  in  Florence,2  “ I have  finished 
the  chapel  which  I have  been  painting.  The  Pope  is  very 
well  satisfied  ( assai  ben  sodifatto)-  but  other  things  do 
not  happen  as  I wished.  I lay  the  blame  on  the  times, 
which  are  not  favourable  to  art.  I shall  not  come  for  All 
Saints’.  Try  to  live  as  well  as  you  can,  and  do  not  mix 
yourself  up  with  anything.  No  more.  Your  Michel- 
agniolo,  sculptor  in  Rome.” 

1 1 suspect,  however,  that  this  burla  is  only  an  amplification  of 
what  was  said  in  1508  in  regard  to  the  Apostles.  In  his  old  age 
Michelangelo  often  became  confused  and  gave  different  versions 
of  the  same  fact.  As  to  the  remark  of  Julius  II.  about  the  gildings 
— a remark  for  which  he  has  been  so  much  blamed  in  many 
modern  books — it  is  only  too  true  that  Michelangelo  had  neglected 
to  gild  the  little  balustrades  of  the  thrones  of  the  prophets,  from 
Daniel  and  the  Persica  on,  as  may  be  noticed  at  this  day. 

2 A letter  undated,  but  evidently  written  late  in  October,  1512. 
Milanesi  (p.  23)  gives  it  the  conjectural  date  of  1509! 


356  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


Do  you  not  admire  here  the  persistence  of  the  artist  in 
signing  himself  scultore , when  he  had  just  completed  the 
grandest  painting  that  the  world  has  ever  known  ? And 
are  you  not  tempted  to  see  in  it  something  like  a protest 
against  the  five  years’  violence  that  has  been  done  him, — 
something  like  a declaration  that  henceforward  he  will 
have  his  liberty  ? Observe  also  that  after  having  said  so 
much,  all  through  the  summer,  of  his  impatience  to  re- 
turn home,  he  now  declares  suddenly,  curtly,  and  without 
explanation,  that  he  will  not  come  for  All  Saints’  ! What 
could  he  do  now,  in  that  outraged,  enslaved  city,  where 
“ one  man  alone  appropriates  what  was  given  to  all  ” ? 1 
He  will  not  leave  Rome  so  suddenly;  he  takes  a studio 
in  the  via  Macello  de’  Corvi. 

After  this  letter  of  the  artist,  the  last  of  the  epoch  of 
the  Sistine  painting,  it  is  interesting  to  take  up  the  follow- 
ing passage  in  the  Diarium , where  the  master  of  cere- 
monies, Paris  de  Grassis,  speaks  from  his  point  of  view  of 
the  close  of  the  work  in  the  palatine  chapel: 

“ October  31,  1512.  To-day  being  Sunday  and  the  eve 
of  All  Saints,  the  Pope  gave  a formal  dinner  to  the  am- 
bassador of  Parma,  in  his  palace,  in  the  lower  papal  hall  ; 
and  after  the  dinner  he  caused  two  comedies,  with  some 
eclogues,  to  be  recited  in  the  vulgar  tongue.  After  which, 
when  it  was  time  to  go  to  vespers,  and  the  cardinals  be- 
gan to  arrive,  he  went  to  lie  down,  and  slept,  as  his  cus- 
tom was,  for  an  hour  or  two.  Then,  awaking,  he  went 

1 S’ un  voi  s'appropria  quel  eh'  è dato  a tutti.  Michelangelo’s 
madrigai  upon  Florence  and  the  Florentine  exiles  (. Rime , ed. 
Guasti,  p.  25). 


The  Epilogue  of  the  Vault  (1512)  357 

to  vespers,  which  were  celebrated  in  the  chapel,  more 
solito , seventeen  cardinals  being  present.  Our  chapel  was 
opened  to-day  for  the  first  time  with  its  paintings  fin- 
ished spingi  finita)-,  for  three  or  four  years  its  vault 
has  remained  hidden  by  the  scaffolding  which  entirely 
covered  it.” 

hi 

Family  traditions,  the  teachings  of  Savonarola,  and  the 
humanist  tendencies  of  the  age  had  made  the  soul  of 
Michelangelo  trebly  republican;  and  he  never  forgave 
the  great  Ligurian  Pope  for  the  crime  against  Florence. 
Thenceforward,  he  spoke  of  him  only  in  a tone  of  bitter- 
ness and  recrimination,  exaggerating  immensely  the  per- 
sonal griefs  of  the  past,  especially  those  of  the  year  1506: 
the  Rovere  had  made  him  return  “ with  a rope  around  his 
neck,”  had  compelled  him  to  cry  misericordia!'  In  the 
letters  written  to  Fattucci  in  1524,  as  well  as  in  the 
souvenirs  dictated  to  Condivi  in  1553,  there  is  no  grati- 
fied recurrence  to  the  glorious  epoch  of  the  Sistine 
painting,  no  kind  word  as  to  the  Maecenas-pontiff  who, 
after  all,  did  him  no  other  violence  than  that  of  bringing 
him  to  produce  the  most  beautiful  and  finished  of  his 
works.  Nor  did  Buonarroti  anywhere  express  regret  for 
the  destruction  of  the  Bologna  statue,  and  he  never  even 
made  the  beginning  of  that  figure  of  Julius  II.  which  was 
to  crown  the  famous  Sepoltura , his  haunting  anxiety  for 

1 . . . Mi  fu  forza  andare  là  (to  Bologna)  con  la  coreggia  al 

collo  a chiedergli  perdonanza.  . . . Mi  bisognò  per  forza 

andare  domandargli  misericordia  a Bologna  (Betters  to  Fattucci, 
1524),  ed.  Milanesi,  pp.  427-429. 


358  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


thirty  years.  When  I consider  that  during  these  thirty 
years  Michelangelo  seized  every  opportunity  to  reduce 
more  and  more  the  mausoleum  whose  original  design 
was  so  immense,  and  that  he  ended  by  abandoning  its  in- 
significant completion  to  stranger  and  unskilful  hands,  I 
understand  to  a marvel  his  famous  expression  about  “ the 
tragedy  of  the  tomb,”  but  I understand  it  otherwise  than 
do  most  of  his  biographers.1 

His  work  in  the  Sistine  Chapel  being  ended,  the  painter 
of  the  Prophets  and  Sibyls  became  again  the  sculptor, 
and  for  more  than  three  years  was  employed  in  Rome  and 
at  the  quarries  of  Carrara,  upon  the  immense  task  of  the 
Julian  monument.  To  this  period  belong  the  two  Bound 
Captives  (the  well-known  Slaves  of  the  Louvre),  pathetic, 
vengeful  figures,  Titans  writhing  in  their  bonds  and 
questioning  Heaven  with  reproachful  gaze.  One  of  these, 
as  we  learn  from  one  of  Michelangelo’s  letters,  was  seen 
by  Signorelli  as  early  as  1513,  in  the  studio  of  the  via 
Macello  de’  Corvi;  ‘‘the  said  Master  Luca,”  writes  the 
sculptor,  “ found  me  at  work  upon  a statue  of  marble, 
erect,  with  bands  behind  it,  and  four  braccia  [7  ft.  7 in.] 
in  height.”  There  is  reason  to  believe  also  that  the  Moses 
was  blocked  out  at  this  time,  and  brought  very  near  com- 
pletion; but  that  it  was  not  finished  is  evident  from  the 
fact  that  in  the  final  contract  between  the  sculptor  and 
the  Duke  of  Urbino  in  1542,  nearly  thirty’-  years  later,  it  is 

1 These  biographers  generally  forget  that  Michelangelo  received 
a large  sum  (nearly  10,000  ducats,  Lettere , p.  564)  in  advance  for 
the  monument,  and  that  the  family  of  Julius  II.  were  perfectly 
justified  in  insisting  upon  the  performance  of  the  work. 


me  and  the  Renaissance 

en  I consider  that  during  these  thirty 
seized  every  opportunity  to  reduce 
the  mausoleum  whose  original  design 
1 that  he  ended  by  abandoning  its  in- 
tic  - to  stranger  and  unskilful  hands,  I 
- td  his  famous  expression  about  “ the 
t >ut  I understand  it  otherwise  than 
biographers.  ‘ 

- . : i . ; ' ; - i n g ended,  the  painter 

- - again  the  sculptor, 
tployed  in  Rome  and 

V:  ? immense  task  of  the 
.long  the  two  Bound 
Louvre),  pathetic, 

. ml  figures,  d m , - . in  their  bonds  and 

tioning  Heave/  ize*  One  of  these, 

learn  from  1 3 letters,  was  seen 

g . r me  studio  of  the  via 

• ; . mm-  Luca,”  writes  the 

a statue  of  marble, 
nr  braccia  [7  ft.  7 in.] 

. ■ m ,i‘ve  also  that  the  Amoses 

• ,t  t hi  f . rought  very  near  com- 

died  is  evident  from  the 
r -,  • cen  the  sculptor  and 

- i 54;:.  nearly  thirty  years  later,  it  is 

: ! 1 -i  ‘ Michelangelo  received 
.g  .>•.  p.  564!  in  advance  for 

pcUHAHU/OI)  .1  1 > I<>  TIA»T30‘I  c ere  perfectly 

: 1 . r t r i r,  o > the  work . 


The  Epilogue  of  the  Vault  (1512)  359 

specified  that  this  statue  should  be  completed  by  the 
artist’s  own  hand.  To  the  years  immediately  succeeding 
Julius  II. ’s  death,  belongs,  without  doubt,  lastly,  a group 
(now  in  the  Bargello  in  Florence)  catalogued  by  Vasari 
as  among  the  statues  designed  for  the  Sepoltura i,  which  is 
evidently  a Victory  (although  wingless)  and  a Conquered 
Province.  “ This  group  cannot  be  called  pleasing,”  says 
Symonds,1  “ and  its  great  height  renders  it  almost  incon- 
ceivable that  it  was  meant  to  range  upon  one  monument 
with  the  Captives  of  the  Louvre.  ...  A young  hero 
of  gigantic  height  and  strength  stands  firmly  poised  on 
one  foot,  while  with  his  other  leg,  bent  at  the  knee,  he 
crushes  the  back  of  an  old  man  doubled  up  beneath  him. 
The  whole  figure  expresses  irresistible  energy  and  super- 
human litheness,  combined  with  massive  strength.  The 
head  of  the  victorious  youth  seems  too  small  for  his 
stature,  and  the  features  are  almost  brutally  vacuous, 
though  burning  with  an  insolent  and  carnal  beauty.  An 
ingenious  suggestion  has  been  made  that  the  sculptor  in- 
tended to  add  bronze  wings  to  this  Victory , thus  complet- 
ing the  classic  ideal,  and  also  justifying  certain  peculiarities 
which  at  present  render  the  composition  in  some  degree 
awkward.”  2 

'Life  of  Michelangelo  Buonarroti,  voi.  ii.,  pp.  89,  90. 

2 For  the  Bound  Captive , the  Moses , and  the  Victory,  see  illus- 
trations in  Chapter  II.  : The  Story  of  a Tomb. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


THE  EAST  CARNIVAL  (FEBRUARY,  1513) 

NEVER  before,  according  to  contemporaries,  had  the 
Carnival  at  Rome  been  celebrated  with  so  much  splendour 
and  grandezza  as  in  this  year  1513  incomparable,  espe- 
cially, was  the  immense  procession  which,  on  Thursday 
(February  3rd),  came  down  from  the  Capitol,  traversed  the 
via  Florida  as  far  as  the  Ponte  Sant’  Angelo,  proceeded 
thence  to  the  via  de’  Pontefici,  and  did  not  reach  its  last 
halt,  on  the  piazza  Navona,  till  long  after  midnight. 
Two  thousand  soldiers,  foot  and  horse,  led  the  way;  they 
were  in  glittering  armour  and  their  banners  bore  the 
famous  inscription  in  letters  of  gold:  Senatus  Populusque 
Romanus. 

Behind  them  came  the  fourteen  caporioiii  of  the  Eternal 
City,  with  a picturesque  train  of  pages,  squires,  grooms, 
and  trumpeters.  The  maestro  della  justizia  (the  public 
executioner)  had  his  place,  too,  among  the  city  authori- 
ties: he  pranced  along,  sword  in  hand;  at  his  side  his  as- 
sistant with  a little  block  {ceppo)  under  his  arm,  “ to  cut 
off  hands  on,”  and  a bunch  of  rope,  like  a shoulder-belt, 

1 See  the  curious  Relation  that  was  sent  to  Isabella  of  Mautua, 
extracted  by  Signor  Luzio  from  the  Mantuan  archives  ( Federico 
Gonzaga , ostaggio,  p.  577  et  seq.).  There  is  also  a poem  on  this 
Carnival  by  a Florentine  physician,  Giovanni  Jacopo  Penni,  re- 
produced in  Ademollo,  Carnevale  di  Roma , Florence,  1856. 

360 


The  Last  Carnival  (February,  1513)  361 


per  impiccare.  But  the  culminating  point,  and  the  most 
original  part  of  the  festa  was  the  long  procession  of 
chariots,  recalling  in  allegory  the  extraordinary  events  of 
the  year  1512,  a tru annus  mirabilis . There  was  the 
figure  of  Italy,  first,  subjugated  by  the  Galli , bound  hand 
and  foot  by  “ Barbarians,”  and  then,  free,  triumphant, 
and  bearing  aloft  the  palms  of  victory.  Bologna,  Reggio, 
Parma,  Piacenza,  Milan,  Genoa,  Savona,  and  many  other 
cities  lately  delivered  were  represented,  one  after  another, 
with  their  rivers,  their  mountains,  and  their  products. 
The  Holy  Reague  had  its  special  carro  as  well  as  the 
Rateran  Council,  and  two  pictures,  having  for  their  sub- 
jects the  Brazen  Serpent  and  the  Punishment  of  Korah, 
made  allusion  to  the  sacrilegious  and  pitiably  unsuccessful 
conciliabulum  of  Pisa.  A car,  upon  which  stood  the  oak- 
tree  of  the  Rovere,  gave  honour  where  honour  was  due 
for  all  these  great  deeds:  Julio  II.  Italics  liberatori  et 
schismatis  extindori ; and  a temple  of  the  Delphic  Apollo, 
with  the  sun-god  on  its  summit,  armed  with  his  silver 
bow  and  shooting  forth  golden  arrows,  rendered  homage 
to  the  Maecenas,  the  promoter  of  immortal  masterpieces  of 
art. 

A cavalcade  of  two  hundred  young  men,  all  sons  of  the 
most  illustrious  and  ancient  Roman  families,  and  of  w'hom 
not  one  was  over  sixteen  years  of  age,  closed  the  proces- 
sion. ‘‘They  were  not  masked,  but  they  had  inscribed 
upon  the  arm  or  the  breast  the  names  of  the  heroes  from 
whom  they  claimed  descent,  the  names  of  the  Fabii,  Hora- 
tii,  Curiatii,  Camilli,  Decii,  and  Torquati.  The  mothers 
of  these  youths  and  all  their  relatives  looked  out  from 


36  2 


Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


windows  and  balconies,  and  uttered  cries  of  delight  at 
sight  of  this  magnificent  progeny,  which  seemed  to  prom- 
ise the  people  that  their  ancient  glory,  eclipsed  for  so 
many  centuries,  was  about  to  be  restored  to  them.” 

It  was  not  given  to  Julius  II.  to  contemplate  with  his 
eyes  a spectacle  which  was,  so  to  speak,  the  apotheosis  of 
his  reign.  Since  the  beginning  of  the  year  (1513)  he  had 
not  left  his  sick-room,  and  the  very  day  after  this  great 
ovation  of  masks  and  chariots,  he  began  making  ar- 
rangements in  regard  to  his  approaching  funeral. 

“ The  Pope,  seriously  indisposed,”  writes  Paris  de 
Grassis  under  date  of  February  4th,  “ called  me  to  his 
bedside.  He  said  very  piously  that  no  human  help 
would  now  be  of  any  avail  to  him,  and  that  he  thanked 
God  for  granting  him  a Christian  end,  not  sudden 
and  unprepared  for,  as  had  been  the  case  with  some 
of  his  predecessors.  He  then  desired  me  to  have  a care 
for  his  body,  after  his  death:  not  to  lavish  upon  his  mortal 
remains  the  honours  and  pomp  which  he  but  little  de- 
served, having  been  in  his  life  a great  sinner;  on  the  other 
hand,  he  would  not  have  his  dead  body  abandoned  with- 
out decency  or  respect,  as  he  had  himself  witnessed  after 
the  death  of  many  pontiffs.  He  begged  me  to  place  in  his 
coffin,  upon  his  hands,  two  valuable  rings  that  he  indi- 
cated to  me,1  and  to  have  his  remains  laid  in  the  chapel  of 
Pope  Sixtus  IV.  (in  S.  Peter’s)  until  his  own  sepulchre 
which  he  had  ordered  should  be  completed  (donee  sepulcrum 
suum , quod  jam  inchoari  mandaverat  perficeretur  ')."  It 

1 The  same  rings,  perhaps,  that  he  is  seen  wearing  in  the  Mass 

of  Bolsena. 


Tomb  of  Sixtus  IV. 


*,  usance 

' 

. of  delight  at 

■ , - ' provi*  O , 

•emed  to  prom- 

i 

■ 

eclipsed  for  so 

stored  to  them.” 

opiate  with  his 

the  apotheosis  of 

' '*r  (1513)  he  had 

1,  aud  tir.  \ 

y after  this  great 

• and  chariot;- 

. gan  making  ar- 

\\ 

< 

r— 

. nrd  to  his  apr  ; mng  funeral. 

2 

seriously  iixlisp 

raid.”  writes  Paris  de 

ìi- 

X 

date  of  February 

' ‘ called  me  to  his 

co 

said  very  pio  : 0 

no  human  help 

no 

of  any  avail  t<> 

that  he  thanked 

s 

0 

- granting  him  a Cirri 

aid,  not  sudden 

Hi 

prepared  for,  as  had  lx 

case  with  some 

Iccessors.  He  then  ■ 

. me  to  have  a care 

r.  . if’;  r his  death:  not 

. ish  upon  his  mortal 

r a;  ours  and  pomp 

h he  but  little  de- 

ì- 

' _ ?n  in  his  life  a g 

inner;  on  the  other 

) 

r.  have  his  do; 

ody  abandoned  with- 

■ pect,  as  he  in 

. ■"self  witnessed  after 

Y pontiffs,  I I . 

. . d me  to  place  in  his 

hands,  two  vain 

■ mgs  that  he  indi- 

\>  have  his  rem 

1 in  the  chapel  of 

; S.  Peter  > 

is  own  sepulchre 

i should  b c 

■ -led  {donee sepulcrum 

• 

prrficeretur ).”  It 

■ tps,  that  he 

; . u aring  in  the  Mass 

The  Last  Carnival  (February,  1513)  363 

was  evidently  during  this  last  illness  that  Julius  II.  had 
reverted  to  the  former  project  of  the  tomb  in  conversation 
with  Michelangelo;  but  he  now  wished  it  much  more 
simple,  and  destined  for  it  in  his  will  only  the  sum — still 
a large  one — of  ten  thousand  five  hundred  ducats.  His 
two  executors,  Cardinal  Leonardo  Grosso  della  Rovere, 
and  the  prothonotary  Lorenzo  Pucci,  felt  it  incumbent  on 
them  to  have  the  mausoleum  larger  than  the  Pope  had 
wished  it,  and  in  the  agreement  made  a few  weeks  later 
with  Michelangelo,  Cardinal  Lionardo  added,  from  his 
own  means,  six  thousand  ducats  more.1 

Until  the  last,  the  dying  pontiff  continued  to  occupy 
himself  incessantly  with  the  affairs  of  the  Church  and  the 
State.  He  received  foreign  ambassadors  at  his  bedside, 
he  despatched  briefs,  and  arranged  with  his  faithful  mas- 
ter of  ceremonies  all  the  detail  of  the  sessions  of  the 
Council  which  he  could  not  now  attend.  The  day  before 
his  death,  February  19th,  he  signed  a singular  bull,  by 
which  he  established  and  endowed  a perpetual  school  for 

' Agreement  of  May  6,  1513  ( Lettere , ed.  Milanesi,  p.  633).  In 
his  letter  to  Fattucci  {ibidem,  p.  428),  Michelangelo  says  that  the 
papal  executors,  volendo  accrescere  la  sepoltura,  cioè  far  maggiore 
opera  che  il  disegno  ch'io  avevo  fatto  prima , si  fece  un  contratto, 
etc.  In  my  opinion,  the  disegno  fatto  prima  does  not  refer  at  all 
to  the  plan  of  1505  (as  Springer  supposes)  but  to  one  which  the 
artist  had  probably  presented  to  the  Pope  during  the  latter’s  last 
illness.  Might  not  it  be  exactly  that  one  with  which  the  execut- 
ors, in  a new  agreement  made  three  years  later,  July  8,  1516  [ibid., 
pp.  644-48),  declared  themselves  satisfied,  while  at  the  same  time 
allowing  the  artist  to  have  this  increase  of  6000  ducats  in  his  com- 
pensation ? According  to  this  new  contract,  the  monument  has  but 
twenty  statues  instead  of  the  forty  stipulated  for  in  the  preceding 
agreement. 


3Ó4  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


sacred  singing,  to  the  end  that  the  service  at  S.  Peter’s 
should  be  worthily  celebrated,  and  that  the  personnel  of 
the  choir  should  no  longer  be  recruited  by  chance  and 
among  foreigners,  “ in  France,  or  in  Spain.”  This  is  the 
origin  of  the  Capella  J ulia  which  later  was  made  illustrious 
by  the  great  masters,  Palestrina,  Anfo^si,  Guglielmi, 
Fioravanti,  and  others,  and  whose  productions  even  to  the 
present  day  give  so  much  brilliancy  to  the  religious 
ceremonies  of  the  Vatican  Basilica.  Among  the  numer- 
ous auditors  who,  in  Holy  Week,  crowd  beneath  the  great 
dome  of  Michelangelo,  very  few,  assuredly,  ever  associate 
the  soft  harmonies  of  the  Tamentations  and  the  Miserere 
with  the  memory  of  the  legendary  soldier  of  Mirandola, 
whose  last  thought , nevertheless,  they  were  ! 1 

On  the  20th  of  February,  after  having  received  the  viati- 
cum, the  Pope  called  together  all  the  cardinals  at  the  time 
in  Rome,  to  bid  them  farewell.  He  begged  them  to  pray 
earnestly  for  him,  inasmuch  as  he  had  been  a very  great 
sinner,  and  had  not  governed  the  Church  as  he  ought. 
He  exhorted  them  to  live  in  the  fear  of  God  and  in  obe- 
dience to  the  divine  commandments;  he  adjured  them  to 
elect  his  successor  in  accordance  with  the  prescribed  rules, 
and  not  admit  to  the  Conclave  their  schismatic  colleagues 
— those  who  had  given  adhesion  to  the  conciliabulum  of 

1 Bullarum  Vaticanian , p.  349.  It  is  a common  and  a very 
great  error  to  confuse  the  Capella  Julia  of  S.  Peter’s  with  the 
Capella  Sixtina  (or  rather,  Palatina)  of  the  Vatican  Palace — a dis- 
tinct foundation  whose  functions  have  been  suspended  since  1870. 
See  the  interesting  study  upon  the  Schola  Cantorum  of  Rome, 
that  Haberle  has  published  in  the  Vierteljahrschrift  fur  Musikwis- 
senschaft,  1887,  pp.  189  et  seq. 


The  Last  Carnival  (February,  1513)  365 

Pisa.  Those  cardinals  he  forgave  with  all  his  heart  in 
so  far  as  he  was  concerned  personally  ; but  as  Pope,  he 
was  obliged  to  maintain  with  strictness  the  canonical 
laws. 

All  this  address  he  delivered,  speaking  in  Latin,  with 
a strong  and  authoritative  voice,  “as  though  in  full 
consistory.”  We  must  recognise  the  fact  that  most  of 
the  members  of  the  Sacred  College  had  been  restive  under 
the  reign  that  was  now  about  to  end.  The  Ligurian 
parvenu,  who  for  nine  years  had  dragged  them  from  one 
end  of  Italy  to  the  other  in  his  army,  had  transformed 
them  into  aides-de-camp,  into  generals,  had  forced  them 
to  lie  in  camp  as  he  did  under  the  fire  of  besieged  towns, 
was  scarcely  a Pope  after  the  heart  of  these  effeminate, 
refined  Eminences  of  the  South:  Leo  X.  would  be  very 
much  more  to  their  liking.  But  when  they  approached  the 
dying  man,  one  by  one,  to  receive  his  blessing  and  to  kiss 
his  hand  there  was  not  a single  one  among  them  all  who 
did  not  weep  and  sob  aloud.  In  the  spectacle  of  death 
there  is  always  something  august  and  purifying  which 
silences  our  passions  and  leaves  us  free  to  hear  the  in- 
ner voice,  the  voice  of  history  even.  At  that  solemn 
moment,  the  rancorous  porporati  perhaps  said  to  them- 
selves that  there  was  needed  nothing  less  than  this  pontefice 
terribile  to  lift  the  papacy  from  the  profound  abasement  in 
which  a Borgia  had  left  it.  They  also  might  have  said 
to  themselves  that,  with  all  his  fits  of  temper  and  his  acts 
of  violence,  the  second  Rovere  had  never  been  guilty 
of  an  act  of  cruelty,  had  never  avenged  a personal  in- 
jury, and  had  sought  no  other  grandeur  than  that 


366  Rome  and  the  Renaissance 


of  the  Church.  This  last  point  is  borne  witness  to  by 
Macchiavelli.1 

During  the  night  of  February  20-21,  Julius  II.  died. 

His  remains  were  deposited,  provisionally,  in  S. 
Peter’s,  at  the  foot  of  the  monument  he  had  caused  to  be 
erected  in  1493,  by  the  art  of  Pollajuolo,  to  Sixtus  IV., 
his  uncle.2  The  provisional  interment  proved  to  be  final: 
up  to  this  day,  at  the  feet  of  Sixtus  IV.  still  rest  the 
remains  of  the  pontefice  terribile , who  was  the  first  to 
raise  the  twofold,  tragic  question  of  the  liberty  of  Italy 
and  the  independence  of  the  Holy  See.  After  three  cent- 
uries and  a half,  the  problem  has  risen  anew  in  our  day, 
confronting  us  in  all  its  formidable  vastness:  and  now,  it 
is  the  “Barbarians,”  the  Galli  so  abhorred  in  1512,  who 
have  delivered  Italy  ; and  Italia  libera  which  has  destroyed 
the  temporal  power  founded  by  Julius  II.  . . . Il  giuoco 
del  mondo  ! 

1 Fece  ogìd  cosa  per  accrescere  la  Chiesa  e non  alcun  privato. 
Principe , c.  9. 

2 The  originai  place  of  this  monument  in  old  S.  Peter’s  was 
in  the  choir  ; it  is  now  in  the  chapel  of  the  Holy  Sacrament. 


INDEX 


A 

Abbreviatores,  their  number  re- 
duced by  Paul  II.,  3;  in- 
creased by  Sixtus  IV.,  4 
Academy,  the,  3,  4 
Acciaiuoli,  the,  masters  of  Ath- 
ens in  the  Quattrocento,  99 
Adrian  I.,  receives  Charle- 
magne in  old  S.  Peter’s,  31; 
his  tomb,  42;  inscription  in 
his  honour,  43 

Adrian  IV.,  his  tomb  in  the 
grotte  Vaticane , 38  note 
Adrian  VI.,  his  tomb  in  Santa 
Maria  dell’  Anima,  113;  a 
clean-shaven  Pope,  234  note 
Agnadello,  battle  of,  219,  224 
Alberti,  Leo  Battista,  quoted  : 
on  the  Vatican  Basilica,  20  ; 
on  the  Cathedral  of  Florence, 
46  note;  on  the  dignity  of  the 
artist,  134 

Albertini,  Canon  Francesco,  au- 
thor of  the  Mirabilia , 4,  144  ; 
quoted,  on  Julius  II. ’s  entry 
into  Rome,  48  ; book  dedi- 
cated to  Julius  II.,  145  ; edi- 
tions of  the  work,  145  note; 
general  outlines  of  it,  145, 
146  ; other  works  of  his,  146 
note;  meutions  Michelangelo 
and  the  new  S.  Peter’s,  150  ; 
mentions  a Library  in  the  Vat- 
ican palace,  172-4 
Aldrovandi,  Ulisse,  author  of  a 
book  on  Ancient  Marbles 
Discovered  in  Rome , 80  note 
Alexander  VI.  (Roderigc  Bor- 
gia), his  pontificate,  9,  87  ; 


hated  by  Julius  II.,  151  ; his 
appartamento  in  the  Vatican 
palace,  151,  152  and  note; 
his  portico,  174  note;  sup- 
posed attempt  to  poison  Car- 
dinal della  Rovere,  235 
Alfonso,  Duke  of  Ferrara.  (See 
Fste.  ) 

Alidosi,  Cardinal  of  Pavia,  fa- 
vourite of  Julius  II.,  51,  235  ; 
mediator  between  Michelan- 
gelo and  the  Pope,  51,  236; 
draws  up  agreement  for  the 
Sistine  frescos,  61  ; his  assas- 
sination, 214,  234  ; papal  le- 
gate at  Bologna,  234  ; his 
correspondence  with  Michel- 
angelo, 236,  237  ; his  villa, 
237,  238  ; his  palace  in  Rome, 
238-40  and  note;  question  as 
to  his  portrait  by  Raffaello, 
240  note;  question  as  to  his 
character,  240-2  and  note; 
Julius  II. ’s  grief  at  his  death, 
242,  and  punishment  of  the 
assassin,  250 

Altieri,  Marcantonio,  author  of 
Li  Nuptiali , 148  and  note , 149 
Ancestors  of  Christ  (Liber  gen- 
erationis),  series  of  frescos  in 
the  Sistina  by  Michelangelo, 
313  ; a familiar  theme  with 
mediaeval  painters,  347,  348  ; 
novel  treatment  here,  348, 
349  ; a woman  the  principal 
figure  in  each  group,  348  note ; 
each  prefigures  the  Holy 
Family,  349  ; poetic  figures 
and  simple  composition,  349, 
351 
3&7 


Index 


368 


Andrea  del  Castagno,  artist  of 
the  Quattrocento,  75  ; em- 
ployed in  decorating  the 
“ Upper  Rooms”  before  Raf- 
faello, 152 

Andrea  del  Sarto,  influenced  by 
Michelangelo,  51,  350;  and 
by  Raffaello,  332  ; his  Carità, 
350  note 

Antceus , the,  antique  marble, 
96,  139  and  note , 146 

Anticaglie , 79 

Apollo , the,  antique  marble, 
appreciation  of,  82,  83;  discov- 
ered in  the  reign  of  Innocent 
VIII.,  82  note  ; its  influence 
upon  Michelangelo,  82,  84, 
90,  91  ; not  a work  of  the 
best  period,  98  ; placed  in  the 
Belvedere,  138,  247  and  note; 
mentioned  in  the  Mirabilia , 
M5 

Appartamento  Borgia , deco- 
rated for  Alexander  VI.  by 
Pinturicchio,  151  ; detested 
and  abandoned  by  Julius  II., 
151,  152,  but  still  in  use  for 
state  dinners,  152  note 

Aquinas,  S.  Thomas,  318 

Arena  Chapel  in  Padua,  fres- 
cos of,  209,  210 

Ariosto  quoted,  257  and  note, 
261  note;  in  the  service  of 
Alfonso  d’Este,  263,  264  and 
note 

Arrotino,  the,  antique  marble, 
80  note 

Artists,  Italian,  of  the  Renais- 
sance, their  position  half-arti- 
san, 70,  71  ; their  relation  to 
their  patrons,  72 

Atrium , 32  and  vote 

Aurora,  Guido’s,  in  the  Rospig- 
liosi palace,  313,  314 

B 

Bacchus , Michelangelo’s,  87  and 
note,  92 

Baglioni,  Astorre,  his  wedding, 
162 


Baglioni,  Atalanta,  orders  the 
Entombment,  161 
Baglioni,  Giampolo,  surrenders 
Perugia  to  the  Pope,  47 
Baglioni,  Griffonetto,  his  crime 
and  murder,  160,  161 
Bartolommeo,  Fra,  187 
Basilica,  the  ancient  Roman 
court-house,  adapted  to  Chris- 
tian use,  40,  41 

Basso,  Cardinal,  nephew  of 
Sixtus  IV.,  his  tomb  in  Santa 
Maria  del  Popolo,  in,  112 
Bayard,  Chevalier,  French  gen- 
eral in  Italy,  229,  257 
Bazzi.  (See  Sodoma.) 

Becca,  Michel  del,  painter  em- 
ployed in  the  “Upper  Rooms” 
before  Raffaello,  153 
Beckerath  Collection,  13  note, 
17  vote 

Belle  Jardinière,  Raffaello’s, 
330,  336 

Bellini,  Gentile,  51 
“ Belvedere  ” of  the  Vatican, 
begun  by  Nicholas  V.  and  re- 
built by  Innocent  VIII.,  135  ; 
united  with  the  main  build- 
ings of  the  palace  by'  Julius 
II.,  135-7  ; winding  staircase 
of,  137,  138  ; Viridarium  of, 
138-40  ; its  collection  of  stat- 
ues, 138,  139  and  note 
Bembo,  supposed  adviser  of 
Raffaello,  180;  author  of  the 
Asolavi,  207;  on  Alidosi’s 
murder,  241,  242  note  ; great 
lover  of  art,  328 

Benediction  of  Noah , fresco  of 
the  ceiling  of  the  Stanza  di 
Eliodoro,  shows  the  influence 
of  Michelangelo,  322,  324 

note;  composition  of  the 
highest  rank,  323  ; engraved 
by  Marcantonio  Raimondi, 
324  note 

Benedictions,  Loggia  of  the,  31 
Bentivoglio,  Giovanni,  aban- 
dons Bologna  to  the  Pope,  47  ; 
recovers  the  city,  234;  is  again 
expelled,  260 


Index 


369 


Benvenuto  della  Volpaia,  his 
letter  to  Michelangelo,  138 
note 

Bernardino  di  Betto.  ( See  Pin- 
turicchio.) 

Bernini,  quoted,  66  note 

Bertoldo,  Florentine  sculptor, 
early  master  of  Michelangelo, 
52,  109 

Bibbiena,  Cardinal,  painted  by 
Raffaello,  66  ; the  painter’s 
supposed  adviser,  180  ; in- 
structor of  Federico  Gonzaga, 
251  ; distinguished  lover  of 
art,  328 

Bibita  pauperum , quoted,  101 
note 

Boétius  on  Music,  198 

Bologna,  Julius  II. ’s  triumphal 
entry  into  47  ; revolts  against 
him,  56,  234  ; papal  headquar- 
ters, 225  ; threatened  by 
French  army,  228  ; a second 
triumphal  entry  by  the  Pope, 
232  ; taken  by  the  French, 
234  ; recovered  by  the  Pope, 
260 

Bolsena,  Italian  city,  318  ; mira- 
cle of,  318  and  note , 319  and 
note 

Bonfigli,  painter  employed  in 
decoration  of  the  “Upper 
Rooms  ” before  Raffaello,  152 

Boniface  VIII.,  his  tomb  in  the 
grotte  Vaticane , 38  note 

Borgia,  Cesare,  hostility  be- 
tween him  and  Cardinal  del- 
la Rovere,  9 ; Macchiavelli’s 
high  opinion  of  him,  10,  11 

Borgia,  Lucrezia,  wife  of  Al- 
fonso d’Este,  222  ; highly 
praised  by  Bayard,  223 

Borgia,  Roderigo.  ( See  Alexan- 
der VI.) 

Bottega , 70 

Botticelli,  Sandro,  his  faults  of 
composition,  167;  his  work  in 
the  Sistina,  284  ; his  Judith , 
302 

Bound  Captives , Michelan- 
gelo’s, 14,  15,  358 
24 


Bourbon,  Constable,  ravages  of 
his  soldiers  in  the  Vatican 
Stanze,  215 

Bramante, il ( Donato  da  Urbino), 
proposes  the  rebuilding  of  S. 
Peter’s,  18,  19  ; a great  de- 
stroyer, 24,  25  ; sarcastic  pam- 
phlet in  regard  to  him,  25,  26, 
119,  120;  excites  Michelan- 
gelo’s ill-will,  53,  117,  118; 
gives  friendly  aid  to  Sanso- 
vino, 59,  1 13;  student  of 
classic  ruins  in  Rome,  99  ; 
his  work  in  Santa  Maria  del 
Popolo,  108  ; his  likeness  in 
the  Disputa , 117,  189,  212; 
his  plan  for  S.  Peter’s  praised 
by  Michelangelo,  118  note; 
his  character,  119-21  and 
note  ; his  work  in  Northern 
Italy,  121,  122  ; goes  to  live 
in  Rome,  122-4 1 his  second 
manner,  123-5  ; his  Tem- 
pietto, 125  and  note , 126,  127 
and  note  ; portico  of  the  Pace, 

' 127-9;  employed  by  Cardinal 
Caraffa,  128,  129;  his  plan  for 
S.  Peter’s,  131  ; plans  for  S. 
Biagio  and  the  Belvedere, 
132  ; his  energy  in  work,  133  ; 
his  constructions  in  the  Vat- 
ican, 134-8  and  note  ; im- 
agined visit  to  the  Belvedere 
with  Julius  II.,  140,  141  ; has 
charge  of  the  decoration  of 
the  Stanze,  152;  his  hospi- 
tality, 153  and  note  ; friendli- 
ness towards  Raffaello,  158; 
his  unsuccessful  scaffolding  in 
the  Sistina,  270  ; his  criticism 
of  Michelangelo,  277  note 
Brancacci  chapel,  Florence, 
scene  of  quarrel  between 
Michelangelo  andTorrigiano, 
67  ; frescos  of  Masaccio  in, 
67,  296  note 

Brazen  Serpent , fresco  of  the 
Sistina,  303 

Brunelleschi,  Filippo,  46  note 
Bunsen,  quoted,  21  note 
Burckhardt,  quoted,  125 


370 


Index 


Burning  Bush , fresco  of  the 
ceiling  of  the  Stanza  di  Elio- 
doro, 322  ; fine  composition, 

323  ; its  cartoon  in  Naples, 

324  note 

C 

Cambio,  town-hall  of  Perugia, 
decorated  by  Perugino,  177-9, 
186 

Cambrai,  League  of.  ( See 

League.  ) 

Cancellaria,  palace  of  the,  built 
by  Cardinal  Raffaello  Riario, 
8;  confiscated  by  Leo  X.,  8 
note;  not  the  work  of  Bra- 
mante, 122  note 

Cancelli , 34,  35 

Canossa,  Count  Alessandro  da, 
64 

Cantharus,  32  and  note 

Capella  Julia,  founded  by  Julius 
II.,  363;  distinguished  from 
the  Capella  Sistina,  or  Pala- 
tina, 364  note 

Capitol,  mediaeval  description 
of,  142,  143  ; rallying-point  of 
malcontent  princes,  248-50 

Caraffa,  Cardinal,  128  and  note  ; 
patron  of  Bramante,  129 

Cardinal  Virtues , the,  fresco 
of  the  Segnatura,  shows  clas- 
sic influence,  209;  difficulty 
in  representing  abstractions 
happily  surmounted  in  it, 
201,  210  ; fine  individuality 
of  the  figures  and  artistic  dis- 
tinction, 210,  211;  their  appro- 
priateness in  the  Segnatura, 
212 

Cardone,  Spanish  general  in 
Italy,  343 

Carità  of  Andrea  del  Sarto, 
350  note 

Carnival  of  1513,  its  procession 
in  honour  of  Julius  IL,  360-2 

Carrara,  marble  quarries  of, 
scene  of  Michelangelo’s  la- 
bours, 17,  358 


Carteggio  inedito , Gaye’s,  347 
note 

Castiglione,  Count  Baldassare, 
author  of  the  Cortegiano , sup- 
posed adviser  of  Raffaello, 
180;  his  literary  work,  207; 
carries  congratulations  to  the 
Pope,  231,  232 
Cathedra  Petri , 36 
Cellini,  Benvenuto,  66,  67 
Cerretani,  quoted,  282 
Charles  VIII.,  King  of  France, 
in  Italy,  9,  87  ; orders  descrip- 
tion of  Rome  drawn  up  and 
sent  to  Paris,  142-4 
Chastisement  of  Hcliodorus, 
fresco  of  the  second  Stanza, 
aimed  at  Italian  princes,  plun- 
derers of  papal  territory,  319  ; 
its  peculiar  composition,  329  ; 
highly  dramatic  character, 
329-32  ; damaged  during  the 
sack  of  Rome,  332  ; repre- 
sents the  new  S.  Peter’s  as 
the  temple  of  Jerusalem,  332, 
333  ; contains  fine  portrait  of 
Julius  II.,  333;  a marvel  of 
impetuosity  and  fire,  335  ; 
work  of  pupils  conspicuous 
in  it,  339 

Chaumont,  French  general  in 
Italy,  228 

Chigi,  Agostino,  a distinguished 
amateur,  157  note;  his  palaz- 
zotto  (the  Farnesina),  246  ; in- 
cident of  his  loan  to  the  Pope, 
246,  247 

Churches,  Roman  : 

S.  Agnese  fuori , embellished 
by  Julius  II.,  130 
S.  Agostino,  marble  group  by 
Sansovino,  113 

S.  Andrea  della  Valle,  tomb 
of  Paul  II.,  38  note  ; tomb 
of  Pius  II.,  38  note , 39,  no 
SS.  Apostoli,  embellished  by 
Julius  II.,  130 

S.  Clemente,  type  of  ancient 
basilica,  32  note 
S. Giovanni  in  Laterano,  scene 
of  the  possesso , 257  and  note; 


Index 


371 


Churches—  Continued 

scene  of  Council  called  by 
Julius  II.,  243,  265-8,  363 
S.  Marcello,  tomb  of  Cardinal 
Michieli,  1 13 

S.  Maria  dell’Anima,  tomb  of 
Adrian  VI.,  113 
S.  Maria  in  Ara  Cceli,  tomb 
of  Honorius,  38  note  ; small 
monument  by  Sansovino, 
112 

S.  Maria  sopra  Minerva,  tombs 
of  Leo  X.  and  Clement  VII., 
114 

S.  Maria  della  Pace,  portico 
by  Bramante,  127,  128;  the 
Sibyls  by  Raffaello,  21 1, 

324 

S.  Maria  del  Popolo,  favourite 
sanctuary  of  Sixtus  IV.  and 
Julius  II.,  104  ; rebuilt  by 
Sixtus,  105  ; architectural 
interest  of,  105,  106  ; its  fine 
early  tombs,  106  ; two  re- 
markable monuments  by 
Sansovino,  106-12,  which 
fix  a date  in  the  history  of 
Roman  tombs  and  have 
lasting  influence,  113,  114 
S.  Paolo  fuori , superb  effect 
of  its  columns,  30,  31 
S.  Pietro  in  Montorio,  Bra- 
mante’s  Tempietto , 125-7 
S.  Pietro  in  Vaticano,  ancient 
Basilica  not  large  enough 
to  receive  the  monument  of 
Julius  II.,  18;  proposition 
to  tear  it  down  and  build  a 
grander  one,  18,  19  ; the 
proposition  ill  received,  19, 
20  ; the  building  of  Con- 
stantine and  Pope  Syl- 
vester, 19,  30;  question  as 
to  its  instability,  20-2  ; work 
of  destruction  carried  on 
piecemeal,  21-5  ; corner- 
stone of  new  Basilica  laid 
by  Julius  II.,  26,  27  ; de- 
scription of  the  old  edifice, 
29-45  ; view  of  it  in  fresco 
of  the  Vatican  Library,  45, 


46  ; view  of  the  new  Basili- 
ca in  Vatican  frescos,  46, 
189,  190,  205,  332,  333  ; Bra- 
mante’s  plan  for  it.  132  ; 
its  building  carried  on  rap- 
idly, 133  and  note , 134 
S.  Pietro  in  Vincoli,  titular 
church  of  Julius  II.  as  car- 
dinal, his  monument  in  it, 
1 14  ; embellished  by  him, 
130 

Ciarla,  Simone,  uncle  of  Raffa- 
ello, 156  note 

Clement  VII.  (Giulio  de’  Med- 
ici), his  portrait  by  Raffaello, 
65,  213  ; his  tomb  in  Santa 
Maria  sopra  Minerva,  114; 
frescos  in  the  Sala  di  Costan- 
tino are  of  his  time,  175  ; let 
his  beard  grow  in  sign  of 
mourning  after  sack  of  Rome, 
234  note 

Cleopatt'a,  antique  marble,  247 
note,  248 

Colonna  princes,  conspire 
against  Julius  II.,  248  ; give 
assistance  to  the  Duke  of  Fer- 
rara in  escaping  from  Rome, 
263 

Colonna,  Pompeo,  bishop  of 
Riete,  leads  revolt  against 
Julius  II.,  248,  249  and  note  ; 
his  punishment  long  delayed, 
253  note 

Colonna,  Vittoria,  friend  of 
Michelangelo,  52,  68 

Commynes,  his  opinion  of  Ital- 
ians, 260 

Conciliabulum,  the,  214,  242-4, 

364 

Conclaves  of  1492  and  1503,  9 

Condivi,  quoted,  17,  18,  22,  23, 
61,  279  note,  355 

Confessio,  the,  33-5 

Conti,  Sigismondo  de’,  on  sta- 
bility of  old  S.  Peter’s,  20,  21  ; 
orders  Madonna  di  Foligno, 
180 

Contucci.  (See  Sansovino) 

Convento  dei  Penitenzieri,  oc- 
cupied by  Bramante,  a centre 


37  2 


Index 


Convento  dei  Penitenzieri  — 
Continued 

of  hospitality  for  Florentine 
artists  in  Rome,  153  ; built 
by  Cardinal  Domenico  della 
Rovere,  its  beautiful  decora- 
tions, 239 

Corpus  Domini,  festival  of,  in- 
stituted by  Urban  IV.,  318 
Correggio,  Antonio  Allegri,  337 
Cosimo  Tura,  72 
Cosmati,  art  of,  the,  38,  39 
Costabilo,  Modenese  envoy, 
quoted,  133  note 
Cupid,  Michelangelo’s,  exe- 
cuted for  Jacopo  Gallo,  86, 
87  and  note,  92 

D 

Dante,  on  the  pigna  of  the  Vat- 
ican, 32,  33  ; on  Veronica 
nostra , 37  ; his  likeness  in  the 
Disputa,  193  ; quoted,  193  and 
note 

Decretals,  the,  fresco  of  the 
Segnatura,  modelled  on  Me- 
lozzo’s  Sixtus  IV.,  212  ; fig- 
ures all  portraits,  213  ; portrait 
of  Julius  II.,  213,214;  intend- 
ed portrait  of  Federico  Gon- 
zaga, 252  and  note 
Deliverance  of  S.  Peter,  fresco 
of  the  second  Stanza,  its  dra- 
matic character,  336  ; fine 
chiaroscuro,  337 
Deposizione,  altar-piece  painted 
by  Raffaello,  for  Atalanta 
Baglioui,  originally  in  the 
church  of  San  Francesco  in 
Perugia,  now  in  the  Borghese 
Gallery,  an  early  work,  160, 
161  ; definition  of  the  word, 
160  note;  numerous  studies 
for  the  work,  161,  162  ; merits 
and  defects  of  the  picture, 
163,  164 

Diocletian,  Baths  of,  328 
Disputa  del  Sacramento,  fresco 
of  the  Segnatura,  its  marvel- 
lous unity,  165,  166,  185,  191  ; 
an  idea  of  the  Trecento,  ex- 


pressed by  the  Renaissance, 
183-8  ; the  religious  fresco  of 
the  Stanza,  187;  beautiful 
novelties  introduced  by  Raf- 
faello, 188,  189;  representa- 
tion of  new  S.  Peter’s  in  the 
painting,  189,  190;  the  affirma- 
tion of  a mystic  dogma,  191-4 
Dolce, Lodovico,  quoted,  215  note 
Dolci,  Giovannino  di,  architect 
of  the  Sistina,  284 
Domenichi,  Lodovico,  anecdote 
from  his  Faceticz,  245 
Domenichino,  influenced  by 
Raffaello,  332 

Donatello,  75  ; his  influence 
upon  Michelangelo,  81  ; his 
David,  91,  92  ; his  influence 
upon  Sansovino,  his  know- 
ledge of  classic  art,  112;  his 
Judith,  302  ; his  pulpit  at 
Prato,  344  note 

Donation  of  Constantine,  fresco 
of  the  Sala  di  Costantino,  35 
Diirer,  Albrecht,  his  influence 
upon  Raffaello,  338  note 

F 

Eliodoro,  Stanza  di  (the  second 
Stanza),  its  frescos  designed 
to  be  expressly  personal  to 
Julius  II.,  319-21,  334,  335; 
date  of  the  work,  320  note  ; 
incomplete  at  the  death  of 
Julius  II.,  Leo  X.  required 
Raffaello  to  substitute  his 
likeness  for  that  of  his  pre- 
decessor in  Retreat  of  Attila, 
321  and  note  ; Michelangel- 
esque  aspect  of  the  ceiling, 
321-5  ; frescos  of  the  ceiling 
have  been  wrongly  ascribed 
to  Peruzzi,  324  note  ; injury 
done  here  during  the  sack  of 
Rome,  332  ; this  Stanza  con- 
trasted with  the  Segnatura, 
335  ; its  dramatic  character, 
335,  33.6  1 great  progress  as  to 
colouring  and  picturesque- 
ness, 336-8  ; not  altogether 
Raffaello’s  own  work,  339 


Index 


373 


Enfans  sans  souci , company  of 
French  actors  in  Louis  XII. ’s 
reign,  255,  256 

Erasmus,  in  Rome,  48,  134,  268, 
328  ; friend  of  Cardinal  Ali- 
dosi,  240  note 

Este,  Alfonso  d’,  Duke  of  Fer- 
rara, his  “ Giulia,”  made  from 
the  Pope’s  statue  at  Bologna, 
57  note;  noted  patron  of  art, 
72  ; member  of  the  League  of 
Cambrai,  218  ; ally  of  France, 
222  ; husband  of  Lucrezia 
Borgia,  222,  223;  excommuni- 
cated by  Julius  IL,  223;  pre- 
pares an  ambush  for  the  Pope, 
229  ; recovers  lost  territory, 
235;  at  the  battle  óf  Ravenna, 
256;  seeks  absolution  at  Rome, 
260  ; favourably  received  by 
the  Pope,  261,  262  and  note; 
alarmed,  escapes  from  Rome 
in  disguise,  263,  264  ; impris- 
ons two  of  his  brothers, 

263  note;  sends  Ariosto  to 
Rome,  264  ; loses  territory, 
265 

Este,  Ferrante  d’,  illegitimate 
brother  of  Alfonso,  263  note 

Este,  Ippolito  d’,  Cardinal, 
cruelty  to  his  brother  Fer- 
rante, 263  note;  employs  Ari- 
osto to  negotiate  at  Rome, 

264  ; his  letter  mentioning 
Ariosto,  264  note 

Este,  Isabella  d’,  wife  of  Fran- 
cesco Gonzaga,  Marquis  of 
Mantua,  and  mother  of  Fed- 
erico, distinguished  patroness 
of  art,  72,  248  ; letter  to  her 
from  the  general  of  the  Car- 
melites, 188  note;  obtains  lib- 
eration of  her  husband  by 
giving  her  son  as  hostage  to 
Julius  II.,  250,  251  ; letter  to 
her  from  the  bishop  of  Trica- 
rico, 253  note;  letters  to  her 
from  Grossino,  246-248,  251, 
252  and  note , 262  note 

Eve , Michelangelo’s,  296;  Mas- 
accio’s, 297 


F 

Farnesina,  the,  built  by  Agost- 
ino Chigi,  1 12,  246;  frescos  by 
Raffaello  in,  313 
Fattucci,  Michelangelo’s  letters 
to,  53,  60,  61,  274  note , 287 
note,  357 

Ferdinand  the  Catholic,  King 
of  Spain,  member  of  the 
League  of  Cambrai,  218,  221 
Filarete,  sculptor  of  the  bronze 
doors  of  S.  Peter’s,  44 
Fleurauges  quoted,  on  statue  at 
Bologna,  56,  57  and  note 
Florence,  under  the  Medici,  2, 
7 ; placed  under  an  interdict, 
342  ; downfall  of  the  Republic, 
343,  353,  357;  interdict  re- 
moved, 344 

Foscari,  Venetian  envoy,  262 
Fra  Angelico,  71,  76;  in  what 
respect  superior  to  Raffaello, 
159  ; his  portrait  in  the  Dis- 
puta, 193 
Francia,  67,  72 
Franciabigio,  51 
Francis  I.,  King  of  France, 
Michelangelo  offers  statue  to, 
347  note 

Fredis,  Felice  di,  94,  95 
G 

Gabbioneta,  249  note 
Gallo,  Jacopo,  orders  statues 
from  Michelangelo,  86,  87  ; 
makes  contract  as  his  repre- 
sentative, 88 

Gaston  de  Foix,  French  general 
in  Italy,  256,  342 
Gattico,  Antonio,  his  letter  to 
the  Marquis  of  Mantua,  230 
note 

Genoa,  260 

Ghiberti,  Lorenzo,  early  Tuscan 
sculptor,  81  ; his  bronze  doors, 
293 

Ghirlandaio,  il  (Domenico),  his 
faults  of  composition,  167;  his 
splendid  technique,  185  ; char- 


374 


Index 


Ghirlandaio— Continued 
acter  of  his  painting,  188  ; his 
work  in  the  Sistine  Chapel, 
284 

Giotto,  his  Navicella  and  cibo- 
riumin  S.  Peter’s,  44;  Michel- 
angelo’s resemblance  to  him, 
76;  in  what  respect  Raffaello’s 
superior,  158;  his  Deposizione, 
162  ; his  influence  upon  Raf- 
faello, 183  ; his  Campanile, 
184,  196,  204,  293  ; his  sym- 
bolic painting,  185;  Raffaello 
borrows  from  him,  202  ; his 
Herod's  Banquet , 205  ; his 
Christian  Virtues , 209,  210 

Giovanni  da  Udine,  pupil  of 
Giorgione,  favourite  of  Raf- 
faello, 338  note;  his  share  in 
Raffaello’s  work,  339  ; his 
stucco  in  the  Loggie,  339,  340 

Giovanni  da  Verona,  famous 
artist  in  intarsio , 178;  his 
marquetry  in  the  Segnatura, 

215 

Giovanni  de’  Medici,  Cardinal. 
{See  Reo  X.) 

Giovio,  Paolo,  quoted,  241,  242 

note 

Giuliano  della  Rovere,  Cardinal, 
(See  Julius  II.) 

Giulio  Romano,  his  collabora- 
tion with  Raffaello,  231  note , 
339  ; supposed  likeness  in  the 
Punishment  of  Heliodorus, 
333  note 

Goethe,  quoted,  on  Rome,  215 

Gonzaga,  Federico,  son  of  the 
Marquis  of  Mantua,  sent  to 
Rome  as  hostage,  94;  favour- 
ite companion  of  the  Pope, 
246, 250;  his  position  in  Rome, 
251-3;  his  portrait  by  Raf- 
faello, 252  note  ; nephew  of 
Alfonso  d’Este,  262  note 

Gonzaga,  Francesco,  Marquis 
of  Mantua,  member  of  the 
League  of  Cambrai,  218  ; con- 
tinues hostilities  against  the 
Venetians  and  is  taken  pris- 
oner, 250  ; his  wife  secures  his 


release,  250,  251  ; letters  of 
Stazio  Gadio  to  him,  251  note , 
267 

Gonzaga,  Isabella.  ( See  Este.) 
Gozzoli,  Benozzo,  288 
Gregory  VII.  (Hildebrand), 
buried  at  Salerno,  42  note 
Gregory  of  Tours,  quoted,  34 
Gringoire,  Pierre,  French  pam- 
phleteer, 256  and  note 
Grossino,  Mantuan,  in  the  suite 
of  Federico  Gonzaga,  quoted, 
246-48,  251,  252  and  note,  262 
and  note 

Grotta  Ferrata,  monastery  of, 
130 

Guicciardini,  Francesco,  Italian 
historian,  241,  242  note 
Guicciardini,  Jacopo,  on  the 
sack  of  Prato,  343  note 
Guido,  influenced  by  Raffaello, 
332 

Guillaume  de  Marsillat,  his 
painted  glass,  108,  215 
Gurk,  bishop  of,  Maximilian’s 
ambassador  to  Rome,  his  ar- 
rogance and  insolent  depart- 
ure, 266  ; favourably  received 
by  the  Pope  on  his  return, 
266,  267  ; his  presence  at  the 
Laterau  Council,  268 

H 

Heineken,  quoted,  301  note 
Hercules , antique  marble,  138 
Hermeneia , the,  347  and  note 
Hermes,  antique  marble,  83 
Holy  Family  of  the  Louvre,  by 
Raffaello,  336,  337 
Holy  Night,  Correggio’s,  337 
Homme  obstinè,  V , French  sat- 
ire on  Julius  II.,  256 
Horse-Tamers,  antique  marble, 
78,  90,  143 

Humanism,  its  special  cult,  12 
Humanists,  their  success  and  in- 
solence, 2,  3 ; free-thinkers,  3 ; 
papal  attitude  towards,  3,  4 
Hutten,  Ulrich  von,  his  Descrip- 
tio  Julii  II.,  232,  233 


Index 


375 


i 

Ignudi , the,  frescos  of  the  Sis- 
tina, 315,  316  note 
Imbrattature  of  the  Vatican 
frescos,  215,  216 
Incendio,  Stanza  del,  Perugino’s 
ceiling  in,  155 
Incoronata , Raffaello’s,  191 
Inghirami,  Tommaso  (Fedra), 
papal  librarian,  his  portrait 
by  Raffaello,  66,  180,  181  ; his 
likeness  in  an  ex-voto  in  the 
Lateran,  181,  182  ; his  death, 
182;  reads  Maximilian’s  let- 
ter at  the  Lateran  Council, 
268 

Indulgences,  sale  of,  censured 
by  a cardinal,  26 
Innocent  Vili.  (Cibo),  friendly 
to  Cardinal  della  Rovere,  9 ; 
his  tomb  in  S.  Peter’s,  38  note , 
44,  hi  ; separates  the  court 
of  the  Signatura  into  two  sec- 
tions, 176 

Isabella  d’Este,  Marchesa  di 
Mantua.  (See  Este.) 
Italienische  Reise,  Goethe’s,  215 

J 

Jacopo  della  Quercia,  his  influ- 
ence on  Michelangelo,  80,  81  ; 
an  impassioned  sculptor,  109 
Job,  Book  of,  quoted,  317 
Julius  II.  (Giuliano  della  Ro- 
vere, Franciscan  monk, 
bishop  of  Ostia,  cardinal  of 
San  Pietro  in  Vincoli), 
nephew  of  Sixtus  IV.,  his 
position  during  his  uncle’s 
reign,  8,  9;  twice  defeated  can- 
didate for  the  papal  throne, 
finally  elected,  10  ; residence 
in  France,  10,  106,  130  ; life- 
long hostility  between  him 
and  the  Borgias,  10,  151  ; it 
pontefice  terribile,  10  and  note; 
unappreciated  by  Macchia- 
velli,  10-12  ; his  successful 
campaign  against  Perugia  and 


Bologna,  11,  47,  48,  319;  his 
proposed  tomb,  12-18,  49,  60, 
357,  358  and  note , 362,  363 
and  note  ; personal  relations 
with  Michelangelo,  12,  13,  48, 
49,  51,  53-5,  62,  227,  228,  274  ; 
proposes  to  rebuild  S.  Peter’s, 
18-22  ; is  opposed  by  the  car- 
dinals and  the  Roman  public, 
19,  20  ; employs  Bramante,  24, 
129  ; lays  corner-stone  of  the 
new  Basilica,  26,  27  ; great 
collector  of  antiques,  79,  82, 
83,  138,  139  and  note , 140; 
his  interest  in  S.  M.  del  Po- 
polo, where  he  erects  two 
monuments,  104,  106-11;  not 
a very  good  Franciscan,  105  ; 
a great  builder,  129,  130  ; 
Sangallo  long  his  favourite 
architect,  13 1 ; later,  prefers 
Bramante,  131-41  ; his  in- 
scription over  a door  in  the 
court  of  the  Belvedere,  135 
note  ; abandons  the  apparta- 
mento Borgia , and  selects  in- 
stead the  “Upper  Rooms,” 
151  ; orders  Bramante  to  su- 
perintend their  decoration, 
152,  I53  ! receives  Raffaello 
and  entrusts  to  him  the  de- 
coration of  the  Stanze,  156, 
158;  his  portraits  in  the  Stanze, 
212-4,  245  note,  268,  269,  273, 
320,  326,  327,  333  ; author  of 
the  League  of  Cambiai,  218 
and  note  ; lays  Venice  under 
interdict,  219  ; absolves  the 
Republic,  219-21;  which  of- 
fends the  members  of  the 
League,  221,  222  ; excommun- 
icates the  Duke  of  Ferrara, 
223  ; begins  war  with  France, 
223-5  ; makes  Bologna  his 
headquarters,  225,  226;  is 
taken  ill,  228,  229  ; recovers, 
and  joins  the  army  before  Mi- 
randola, 229-31  ; his  portrait 
in  the  Bruschi  palace,  Corneto, 
230,  231  note  ; enters  Miran- 
dola, 231  ; returns  victorious 


Index 


3 76 


Julius  II. — Continued 

to  Bologna,  232  ; much  criti- 
cised by  European  public,  233, 
234  ; at  Ravenna  hears  of  the 
recapture  of  Bologna  and  the 
murder  of  Alidosi,  235  ; re- 
turns to  Rome,  242  ; Council 
against  him  at  Pisa,  242  ; Em- 
peror hopes  to  supersede  him 
on  the  papal  throne,  243  ; he 
convokes  Council  of  the  Lat- 
eran,  and  excommunicates 
sharers  in  the  Council  of  Pisa, 
243,  244  ; overtures  made  him 
by  Louis  XII.,  244,  245  ; or- 
ganises the  Holy  League 
against  France,  245  ; his  daily 
life  and  amusements,  245-8, 
273,  274  ; borrows  money, 

pawning  the  regno , 246,  247  ; 
his  sudden  violent  illness,  248, 
252;  the  Roman  princes  at- 
tempt an  insurrection,  248, 
249  ; he  recovers,  learns  of 
the  attempt,  but  does  not 
punish,  249,  250,  253  and  note; 
his  affection  for  Federico  Gon- 
zaga, 250-3  ; completes  or- 
ganisation of  the  Holy  League 
and  plans  campaign  against 
France,  253,  254  ; is  dissatis- 
fied with  other  members  of 
the  League,  254,  255;  his  army 
defeated  at  Ravenna,  256-8, 
342  ; cardinals  implore  him  to 
negotiate  with  France,  258; 
his  unexpected  successes  and 
the  withdrawal  of  the  French 
from  Italy,  258-60,  343  ; grants 
absolution  sought  by  the  Duke 
of  Ferrara,  but  deprives  him 
of  territory,  260-3  ! is  gracious 
towards  the  Emperor,  who,  in 
return,  joins  the  Holy  League, 
265  ; opens  the  Lateran  Coun- 
cil, 265  ; prorogues  it  for  six 
months,  and  reopens  it,  265- 
8 ; gains  great  victory  for  the 
papacy',  268;  attends  mass  in 
the  Sistine  Chapel,  opened  for 
a few  days,  274  ; probably  sug- 


gests the  Mass  of  Bolsena  in 
memory  of  a vow  made  at  Or- 
vieto, 319;  intends  the  second 
Stanza  to  be  devoted  to  the 
commemoration  of  his  reign, 
321  ; his  dealings  with  Flor- 
ence, 342  ; carnival  procession 
pays  homage  to  him,  360-2  ; 
his  fatal  illness  and  last  di- 
rections to  Paris  de  Grassis, 
362,  363  ; his  last  bull,  found- 
ing the  Capella  Julia,  363  and 
note;  bids  farewell  to  the 
cardinals,  364,  365  ; his  death 
and  burial,  366;  Macchiavelli’s 
testimony  to  him,  365,  366  and 
note 

Justi,  biographer  of  Winckel- 
mann  and  of  Velasquez,  his 
discovery  as  to  the  Apollo,  82 
note 

L 

Lamento , defined,  160  note 

Laocoon,  the,  antique  marble, 
discovery  of,  93;  object  of  in- 
tense admiration,  94;  its  re- 
markable merit,  94,  95  ; its 
influence  upon  Michelangelo, 
95.  96-  98,  138,  146-283,  303 

La  Palice,  French  general  in 
Italy,  259 

Laude  Sion,  famous  hymn,  318, 
3I9>  326 

League  of  Cambrai,  its  aim,  218, 
220;  Julius  II.,  its  author,  218 
note;  papal  interdict  upon 
Venice  a condition  of  it,  219, 
220 

League,  the  Holy,  proclaimed 
by  Julius  II.  in  the  church  of 
Santa  Maria  del  Popolo,  104  ; 
its  formation,  253,  254;  its 
carro  in  the  carnival  proces- 
sion of  1513,  361 

Leo  X.  (Giovanni  de’  Medici), 
his  characterisation  of  Michel- 
angelo, 10  note  ; his  mot  on 
Lionardo,  i54«o^;  his  portrait 
in  the  Decretals , 212  ; always 


Index 


377 


Leo  X. — Continued 
represented  shaven,  236  note, 
321  note  ; La  Magliaua  his  fa- 
vourite hunting-lodge,  238  ; 
at  the  battle  of  Ravenna,  257  ; 
his  white  horse,  257  note  ; his 
decoration  of  the  church  in 
Bolsena,  319  note  ; substituted 
his  own  portrait  for  that  of 
Julius  II.,  in  Attila' s Retreat, 
334  ; his  portrait  by  Raffaello, 
337 1 appointed  legate,  342  ; 
his  letter  after  the  sack  of 
Prato,  343 

Lesueur,  French  painter,  influ- 
enced by  Raffaello,  332 
Lion  devouring  a horse,  antique 
marble,  favourite  of  Michel- 
angelo, 80  note 

Lionardo  da  Vinci,  his  intention 
of  taking  service  with  the  Sul- 
tan, 52  ; insulted  by  Michel- 
angelo, 56  ; in  the  employ  of 
Lodovico  il  Moro,  70  ; a va- 
grant artist,  72,  74;  never  in 
Rome  during  Julius  II. ’s  pon- 
tificate, 153,  154  and  note; 
Leo  X.’s  sarcasm  on  his  indo- 
lence, 154  note  ; points  of  su- 
periority to  Raffaello,  158, 
159  ; character  of  his  work, 
188  ; his  Last  Supper , 191 
Lippo  Lippi,  his  appeal  to  Piero 
de’  Medici,  72  ; his  work  in 
Prato,  343 

Loggie  of  the  Vatican,  Raf- 
faello's Bible,  288 
Lo  Spagno,  fellow-pupil  with 
Raffaello,  159 
Lomazzo,  341  and  note 
Lorenzetti,  Ambrogio,  his  great 
frescos  in  Siena,  184,  185 
Lotto,  Lorenzo,  painter  of  the 
Stanze  before  Raffaello,  153  ; 
dismissed  by  Julius  II.,  156  ; 
his  portrait  of  Pompeo  Co- 
lonna, 249  note  ; Raffaello’s 
regard  for  his  work,  338  note 
Louis  XII. , King  of  France, 
member  of  the  League  of 
Cambrai,  218;  his  action  on 


removal  of  the  Venetian  in- 
terdict, 222,  223  ; his  pre- 

vious double-dealing,  222  note; 
summons  synod  of  French 
clergy,  223;  Julius  II. ’s  re- 
taliation, 224  and  note,  225  ; 
the  Pope  takes  the  field  against 
him,  225-33  J instigates  the 
calling  of  a council  against 
Julius  II.,  242;  opens  nego- 
tiation with  the  Pope,  244  ; 
the  Holy  League  is  organised 
against  him,  253,  254  ; gains 
disastrous  victory  at  Ravenna, 
256,  257  ; recalls  his  troops 
from  Italy,  259 

Luther,  Martin,  in  Rome,  327-9 
and  note 

Luzio,  author  of  Federico  Gon- 
zaga, ostaggio , 139  note; 
quoted,  253  note,  262  and  note, 
263  note 

M 

Maccabees,  Book  of  the,  quoted, 
330 

Macchiavelli,  Florentine  envoy 
at  Rome,  his  admiration  for 
Cesare  Borgia,  10  ; fails  to 
appreciate  Julius  II.,  10-12; 
his  comment  on  the  French 
war  against  the  Pope,  244, 
245  ; his  Ordinanza,  343  ; his 
testimony  to  Julius  II. ’s  char- 
acter, 366  and  note 

Maddaleni,  Fausto,  on  Alidosi, 
241  and  note 

Madonna  di  Foligno,  painted 
by  Raffaello  for  Sigismondo 
de’  Conti,  180 

Maitani,  Lorenzo,  319 

Manetti,  biographer  of  Nicholas 
V.,  20,  21  note 

Mantegna,  Andrea,  attached  to 
the  Court  of  Ferrara,  71;  point 
of  inferiority  to  Michelan- 
gelo, 75,  112  ; his  frescos  in 
the  Belvedere,  135  and  note  ; 
his  Deposizione,  1 62  ; his  Par- 
nassus, 206 


378 


Index 


Mantua,  Congress  of,  its  de- 
crees, 343 

Maratta,  Carlo,  “restorer”  of 
Raffaello’s  paintings,  215,  326 
Margaret,  Governess  of  the 
Netherlands,  243,  259 
Masaccio,  chapel  in  the  Car- 
mine decorated  by  him,  67  ; 
his  faults  of  composition, 
166  ; splendid  technique,  185  ; 
character  of  his  painting, 
188  ; his  Eve , 296,  297 
Masolino,  his  Eve  in  the  Bran- 
cacci  chapel,  296 
Mass  of  Bolsena,  fresco  of  the 
Stanza  di  Eliodoro,  319  ; its 
portrait  of  Julius  II.  and 
other  contemporaries,  325  ; a 
work  of  great  power,  326, 
327;  highly  dramatic,  335;  re- 
markable colour-effects,  336-8 
Maturanzo,  Perugino’s  adviser 
in  the  Cambio,  179,  219 
Mausoleum  of  Julius  II.,  incep- 
tion of  the  plan,  12  ; its  de- 
tails, 13-17;  question  of  its 
site,  18  ; work  on  it  aban- 
doned, 23,  24,  27;  resumed, 
358,  359  ; last  wishes  of  Julius 
II.  in  regard  to  it,  363  ; ques- 
tion as  to  plans,  363  note 
Maximilian,  the  Emperor,  a 
member  of  the  League  of 
Cambrai,  218  ; had  plundered 
Venice,  219;  truce  with  Ven- 
ice and  subsequent  treachery 
to  her,  221  ; his  anger  on 
removal  of  Venetian  inter- 
dict, 221,  222  ; joins  Frauce 
against  the  Pope,  242  ; has 
the  idea  of  becoming  Pope 
himself,  243,  254;  Julius  II. ’s 
opinion  of  him,  254  ; Pope’s 
complaisance  towards  him, 
265-7  I bis  docility,  267,  268 
Medici,  the  family,  exiled  from 
Florence,  and  afterwards  re- 
stored, 269,  343 

Medici,  Cosimo  de’  ( Pater  Pa- 
trice]1,  his  remark  on  govern- 
ment, 2 


Medici,  Giovanni  de’.  (See  Leo 

X.) 

Medici,  Giovanni  de’  (delle 
Bande  neri),  son  of  Caterina 
Sforza,  6 

Medici,  Giuliano  de’,  Michel- 
angelo seeks  his  protection, 
345  note,  346 

Medici,  Giulio  de’.  (See  Clem- 
ent VII.) 

Medici,  Lorenzo  de’  (the  Mag- 
nificent), imprisons  Raffaello 
Riario,  7 ; his  collection  of 
antiques,  and  school  of  art  es- 
tablished by  him  (the  Medi- 
ceau  Garden),  52,  79,  80,  109 

Medici,  Piero  de’,  patron  of 
Lippo  Lippi,  72 

Melozzo  da  Forli,  his  fresco  of 
Sixtus  IV.,  1,  2 and  notes,  5- 
9,  23,  note  ; fragments  of  his 
work  in  Rome  and  chapel  at 
Loretto,  5 note  ; his  fresco  of 
Sixtus  IV.  Raffaello’s  model 
for  th z JDecretals,  212 

Michel,  Emile,  quoted,  236  and 
note 

Michelangelo  Buonarroti,  first 
visit  to  Rome,  7 ; his  Cupid, 
7,  86,  87  and  note , 92  ; pro- 
posed tomb  for  Julius  IL,  12- 
17  and  notes  ; personal  rela- 
tions with  the  Pope,  12,  13, 
23>  48,  49,  5L  53-5,  62,  227, 
228,  274  ; hostility  towards 
Bramante,  12,  23,  50  ; Bound 
Captives , of  the  Louvre,  14, 
15,  358;  Moses,  15,  82,  358, 
359  ; at  Carrara,  17,  18  ; quo- 
tations from  his  Sonnets,  17, 
52,  53  note  ; returns  to  Rome, 
22  ; refuses  to  paint  the  Sis- 
tine  vault,  23  ; escapes  from 
Rome,  27  ; the  Pietà,  37  note, 
84-6,  88-90  ; cartoon  of  the 
War  of  Pisa,  50,  51;  meets 
the  Pope  at  Bologna,  53  ; is 
cordially  received,  54  ; makes 
bronze  statue  of  Julius  II., 
54-7  ; his  ill-temper  towards 
other  artists,  55,  56,  59,  117, 


Index 


379 


Michel  an  gelo — Continued 
118  and  note , 341  and  note  ; 
indifference  towards  the 
statue  at  Bologna,  58;  is  again 
ordered  to  paint  the  Sistine 
vault,  60;  agrees  to  do  this,  61; 
hislettertoFattucci,6o,6i;  be- 
gins painting,  61  atid  note  ; is 
visited  by  the  Pope,  60,  61  ; 
complains  of  him,  62-4; 
claims  kinship  with  the  Can- 
ossa  family,  64  ; letter  to  his 
nephew  quoted,  64  note  ; his 
personal  appearance,  65  ; like- 
nesses of  him,  65  and  note  ; 
his  irritable  temper,  67  and 
note , 68  ; his  kindness  and 
generosity,  68,  69  ; his  per- 
sonal and  family  pride,  69,  70; 
indifference  towards  his  papal 
patrons,  70  note  ; his  personal 
character,  73,  74;  himself  the 
great  Pensieroso  of  the  Re- 
naissance, 74  ; as  artist,  74- 
6 ; the  Centaurs,  76  ; question 
of  Jacopo  della  Quercia’s  in- 
fluence, 80;  the  Angel  0/  the 
Candelabra , the  Giovannino , 
Adonis,  81  note  ; influenced 
by  Savonarola,  87,  88,  279, 
280-3,  292  ; Bacchus,  87  and 
note , 92  ; early  phase  of  his 
art,  Madonna  of  Bruges,  Ma- 
donna and  Child,  S.  John, 
89  ; his  ruling  esthetic  prin- 
ciples derived  from  classic 
models,  90,  91-3  ; his  David , 
91,  92  ; witnessed  the  disin- 
terring of  the  Laocoon,  93  ; 
his  life  in  the  Sistina,  96, 
216,  341,  344-7  ; his  Capitani , 
114;  sepulchral  monument 
for  himself,  115,  116  and 

note  ; hatred  of  Sangallo, 
praise  of  Bramante’s  plan  for 
S.  Peter’s,  118  iiote ; points 
of  superiority  to  Raffaello, 
158,  159  ; sometimes  his  in- 
ferior in  composition,  166  ; 
in  need  of  money,  follows  the 
Pope  to  his  camp,  227  ; som- 


bre character  of  his  letters, 
227,  228  ; his  early  difficulties 
iu  painting  on  plaster,  270- 
71  ; employs  assistants,  then 
dismisses  them,  271  and  note  ; 
question  as  to  sequence  in 
execution  of  the  frescos,  272 
and  note  ; after  three  years’ 
work,  opens  the  chapel  for  a 
short  time,  274  ; his  plan  of 
the  Sistine  frescos,  286-312, 
347-54  ; his  indifference  to 
literature  and  philosophy  in 
his  w’ork,  306-8  ; impressive 
personality  of  his  figures,  308- 
10;  again  at  work  in  the 
chapel,  342  ; his  patriotic  dis- 
tress and  filial  anxiety,  344- 
7,  352,  353  ; completion  of 
the  Sistine  frescos,  356,  357  ; 
his  resentment  towards  Julius 
II.,  357,  358  ; resumes  work 
on  figures  for  the  Sepoltura, 
358,  359 

Mignante,  quoted,  19 
Mino  da  Fiesole,  72,  76 
Mirabilia,  Albertini’s,  144,  145 
and  note 

Mirandola,  siege  of,  229,  230  and 
note;  capture  of  the  fortress, 
231  and  note , 232  ; recovery 
by  Ferrara,  235 
Monreale,  Cathedral  of,  347 
Montégut,  Emile,  quoted,  289 
and  7iote,  294 

Monuments,  sepulchral,  medi- 
aeval plan  of,  no;  Sansovino’s 
innovations,  no,  in;  their 
general  plan  in  the  Renais- 
sance, 113-15;  their  immense 
place  in  art,  116 
Mosaics,  early  Christian,  41 
Moses,  Michelangelo’s,  16,  234, 
304,  305,  309;  object  of  vener- 
ation to  the  Roman  Jews,  283 
note 

Muntz,  Eugène,  274  note 
Museum  of  the  Capitol,  founded 
by  Nicholas  V.,  first  public 
museum  in  Italy,  5 ; enriched 
by  Sixtus  IV.,  79 


38° 


Index 


Museum  of  the  Vatican,  en- 
riched by  Julius  II.,  79,  134, 
138,  139  and  note 

N 

Narthex,  the,  32  and  note , 33 
Navicella , Giotto’s,  41,  44 
Nepotism,  introduced  by  Sixtus 

IV.,  5 

Nicchione  of  the  Vatican,  de- 
signed by  Bramante,  136;  sole 
remnant  of  the  porticus  Julia , 
136,  137 

Nicholas  V.  (Thomas  of  Sar- 
zana),  adorned  the  old  Basil- 
ica, 20,  21 1 ; his  tomb  in  the 
grotte  Vaticane , 44,  1 10  ; 

founder  of  the  Capitoline 
Museum,  79  ; original  Belve- 
dere built  by  him,  136  ; occu- 
pied the  “Upper  Rooms”  of 
the  Vatican,  152 

O 

Obelisk  of  the  piazza  di  San 
Pietro,  30  and  note 
Oddi,  Maddalena  degli,  early 
patroness  of  Raffaello,  157 
note , 164 

Opus  Alexandrinum,  in  the 
Segnatura,  with  Leo  X.’s  two 
devices,  174  ; in  the  Sistine 
Chapel,  made  from  fragments 
of  early  Christian  tombs,  284 
Orcagna,  in  what  respect  Michel- 
angelo’s superior,  76 
Orvieto,  Cathedral  of,  162,  319 
Ostia,  its  ground  full  of  antique 
marbles,  79  ; fortress  built 
there  by  Julius  II.,  130 
Otho  II.,  Emperor,  his  tomb  in 
S.  Peter’s,  43,  44 

P 

Palaces  of  the  Cardinals,  men- 
tioned by  Albertini,  146  atid 
note 

“Palaces  of  the  Emperors,”  142 
Palla,  Battista  della,  Michel- 
angelo’s letter  to,  50 


Pandects,  the,  fresco  of  the  Seg- 
natura, a total  wreck,  214 

Pange  lingua,  famous  hymn, 

318,  319 

Pantheon,  Bramante’s  model 
for  S.  Peter’s  dome,  18,  19  ; 
Hadrian’s  building, not  Agrip- 
pa’s,  19  note 

Paris  de  Grassis,  Julius  II. ’s 
master  of  ceremonies,  22  ; on 
the  rebuilding  of  S.  Peter’s, 
22,  26,  27  ; on  Bramante,  25  ; 
on  the  “Upper  Rooms,”  151  ; 
on  Alexander  VI.,  151  note  ; 
on  the  appartamento  Borgia, 
152  note;  on  Julius  II. ’s  en- 
trance into  Bologna,  232  ; on 
Alidosi,  241,  242  and  note;  on 
the  expulsion  of  the  French 
from  Italy,  259,  260  ; on  the 
first  reopening  of  the  Sistine 
Chapel,  274  and  note;  on  the 
Vespers  of  Orvieto,  319  and 
note;  on  the  final  re-opening 
of  the  Sistina,  356,  357  ; on  the 
last  illness  of  Julius  IL,  362 

Parnasso,  il,  fresco  of  the  Seg- 
natura, its  graceful  composi- 
tion, 205,  206;  a true  picture 
of  high  society  in  the  Renais- 
sance, 206,  207  ; figures  repre- 
sented, 207,  208;  classic  influ- 
ence shown  in  it,  209;  its  soft 
colouring,  337 

Parthenon,  unknown  to  the  Re- 
naissance, 99 

Paschal  II.,  Santa  Maria  del  Po- 
polo founded  in  his  reign,  104 

Pasquiuo,  128  and  note 

Paul  II.  (Barbo),  his  hostility  to 
the  humanists,  3 ; his  collec- 
tion of  antiques,  29;  his  tomb 
in  Sant’  Andrea  della  Valle, 
38  ; his  tiara,  the  regno,  246, 
247 

Paul  III.  (Farnese),  hall  of  the 
Cancellarla  decorated  in  his 
honour  by  Vasari,  65  note;  his 
conversation  with  Michelan- 
gelo, 80  note;  his  tomb  in  S. 
Peter’s,  114;  his  alterations  in 


Index 


ó 


Paul  III.— Continued 
the  Vatican  Palace,  174  note; 
his  portrait  in  the  Decretals , 
213 

Paul  V.  (Borghese),  demolition 
of  old  S.  Peter’s  completed  in 
his  pontificate,  22;  first  Pope 
to  wear  the  Henri  IV.  beard, 
234  note 

Pazzi,  conspiracy  of  the,  2,  7, 
342 

Pensieroso,  tl,  of  the  Medicean 
Chapel,  304,  305,  309 
Pensieroso,  Michelangelo  the 
great,  of  the  Renaissance,  74 
Perino  del  Vaga,  his  grisailles 
in  the  Segnatura,  178 
Perugino,  il  (Pietro  Vannucci), 
ill-will  of  Michelangelo  to- 
wards him,  67  ; reputed  an 
unbeliever,  72;  his  vagabond 
humour,  74  ; early  work  in 
the  Stanze,  153  ; ceiling  in  the 
Stanza  del  Incendio,  155  ; 
friendly  relations  with  Raf- 
faello, 158  ; early  master  of 
Raffaello,  159;  his  Deposi- 
zione in  Florence,  162  ; his 
Cambio  in  Perugia,  177-9, 
209  ; his  influence  upon  Raf- 
faello, 187  ; his  likeness  in  the 
Disputa,  212;  his  fresco  in  the 
Sistina,  284 

Peruzzi,Baldassare,  his  supposed 
portrait  in  the  Chastisement 
of  Heliodorus,  333  note 
Peter  Martyr  disapproves  of 
Julius  II.’s  bulls,  233 
Petruccio,  Cardinal  Alfonso,  his 
plot  against  Leo  X.,  7 ; his 
death,  8 

Piazza  di  San  Pietro,  fresco  re- 
presenting, 45,  46 
Piermaria  da  Pescia,  his  intag- 
lio, 304  note 

Piero  della  Francesca,  his  work 
in  the  Stanze  before  Raffaello, 
152  ; his  wonderful  technique, 
185  ; his  chiaroscuro,  337,  338 
Pietà,  defined,  160  note 
Pietà , early  statue  of  Michel- 


angelo, its  original  place,  37 
note;  its  present  position 
unfortunate,  84;  its  classic 
simplicity,  suggested  by  the 
Apollo,  84-6  ; its  character  of 
gentle  emotion,  86  ; kinship 
with  the  Madonna  of  Bruges, 
and  Reliefs  of  the  Bargello, 
89,  90;  an  exceptional  inci- 
dent in  Michelangelo’s  career, 
90  ; resemblance  of  the  Ma- 
donna to  a figure  in  the  Sistine 
frescos,  350 

Pietà,  statue  made  late  in  life 
by  Michelangelo,  intended 
for  his  own  tomb,  115,  116 
and  note 

Pigna  of  the  Vatican,  men- 
tioned by  Dante,  32,  33 

Piuturicchio  (Bernardino  di  Bef- 
fo), his  frescos  in  S.  M.  del 
Popolo,  108,  308  note  ; draw- 
ings copied  by  Raffaello,  159  ; 
faults  of  composition,  167  ; 
frescos  in  the  appartamento 
Borgia,  197  ; in  the  Sistina, 
284 

Pisani,  Venetian  envoy  at  Rome, 
219 

Pisano,  Andrea,  his  reliefs  in 
the  Battisterio,  209,  210 

Pisano,  Niccolà,  his  pulpit  in 
Siena,  196 

Pius  II.  (Piccolomini),  builder 
of  the  Loggia  of  the  Benedic- 
tions, 31  ; his  tomb  in  San  An- 
drea della  Valle,  38  note,  39, 
no 

Platina,  Bartolommeo,  Libra- 
rian of  the  Vatican,  in  Me- 
lozzo’s  fresco,  2,  4 ; his  im- 
prisonment, 3 ; restoration  to 
favour,  4 

Poggio,  Braccioliui,  his  essay  on 
Rome,  77,  147 

Pollajuolo,  Antonio,  his  tomb 
of  Innocent  Vili,  in  S.  Peter’s, 
38  note,  44,  in;  his  tomb  of 
Sixtus  IV.,  38  note,  336  and 
note  ; his  David , 91,  92  ; early 
teacher  of  Michelangelo,  109 


382 


Index 


Pomponius  Leto,  3 
Poussin,  French  painter,  influ- 
enced by  Raffaello,  332 
Prato,  sack  of,  343,  365 
Prophets  of  the  Sistiua,  Michel- 
angelo’s, 304-12  and  notes 
Propylaia,  palace  of  the  Acciai- 
uoli  in  Athens,  99 
Pucci,  Lorenzo,  Julius  II. ’s  exe- 
cutor, 363 

Puccio,  Pietro  di,  his  frescos  in 
the  Campo  Santo  of  Pisa,  288, 
293 

Putti  of  the  Sistiua,  Michel- 
angelo’s, 315,  316 

Q 

Quercia,  Jacopo  della,  293 
R 

Raffaello  Sauti,  of  Urbino,  a pu- 
pil of  Perugino,  51  ; painter  of 
many  portraits,  65,  66,  212-14  ! 
disliked  by  Michelangelo,  66, 
67,  1 18  and  note  ; his  sonnet, 
73  and  note  ; his  first  arrival 
in  Rome,  150  ; preceding  year 
had  sought  introduction  to 
Soderini,  156  and  note;  re- 
ceives commission  from  Jul- 
ius II.  to  paint  the  Vatican 
Stanze,  probably  introduced 
by  the  Duke  of  Urbino,  156, 
157;  first  audience  at  the 
Vatican  an  important  date  in 
the  world’s  history,  158;  his 
inferiority  at  certain  points 
to  Michelangelo,  to  Lionardo, 
to  Titian,  to  Giotto,  to  Fra 
Angelico,  158,  159;  surpasses 
all  other  painters  of  the  Re- 
naissance in  two  respects,  159  ; 
sense  of  beauty  innate  with 
him,  but  gift  of  composition 
of  slow  development,  159,  160; 
his  early  fresco,  the  Deposi- 
zione of  the  Borghese  Gal- 
lery carefully  studied,  but 
cold  and  lacking  in  unity, 


160-64  i faults  of  his  Incoro- 
nata, 165  ; composition  of 
his  Sposalizio  due  to  Peru- 
gino, 165  and  note  ; sudden 
and  unaccountable  develop- 
ment of  power  of  composition 
shown  in  the  Disputa,  165-9  I 
his  amiable  character,  178, 
322,  324,  325  ; in  arrangement 
of  the  Stanza,  follows  Peru- 
gino’s  Cambio,  and  intro- 
duces his  former  master’s 
portrait  as  an  acknowledg- 
ment of  indebtedness,  177-9, 
but  in  the  conception  of  the 
Stanza,  far  surpasses  Peru- 
gino, 179;  question  of  assist- 
ance from  learned  contempo- 
raries, 179-83;  more  probably 
inspired  by  the  great  Trecen- 
tisti, 183-5  I and  adds  to  this 
the  intelligence  and  resources 
of  the  high  Renaissance,  185; 
Christian  art’s  greatest  gen- 
ius, 194;  the  Scuola  d' Atene 
an  old  theme,  carried  out 
with  marvellous  originality, 
power,  and  splendour,  196- 
205  ; feels  the  influence  of  the 
classic  world,  210;  introduces 
many  portraits  of  contempo- 
raries, 212-14;  his  admiration 
for  Michelangelo’s  Sistine 
frescos,  279  ; his  ceiling  in 
the  Stanza  di  Eliodoro  testi- 
fies to  it,  321-5;  his  progress 
in  dramatic  power,  in  colour- 
ing, and  in  the  use  of  pict- 
uresque effects  shown  in  the 
second  Stanza,  335-8  ; Michel- 
angelo’s slur  on  him,  338 
note 

Raimondo,  Marcantonio,  his  en- 
gravings of  Raffaello’s  draw- 
ings, 168  ; his  engraving  of 
the  Benediction  of  Noah,  319 
note;  his  portrait  in  the  Chas- 
tisement of  Heliodorus,  333 
note 

Ravenna,  battle  of,  257  and 
notes,  258 


Index 


383 


Regno , the,  Paul  II. ’s  tiara, 
247 

Relics,  the  Great,  iu  S.  Peter’s, 

37 

Republic  proclaimed  by  Roman 
princes,  214 

Retreat  of  Attila,  fresco  of  the 
Stanza  di  Fliodoro,  repre- 
sentation of  Leo  X.  in  place 
of  Julius  II.,  334  ; intense 
dramatic  action  of,  335,  336 

Riario,  Girolamo,  favourite 
nephew  of  Sixtus  IV.,  his 
career  and  death,  5,  6;  hus- 
band of  Caterina  Sforza,  6 
note  ; hostility  to  Giuliano 
della  Rovere,  9 

Riario,  Raffaello,  6 ; made  Car- 
dinal di  San  Giorgio,  7 ; his 
ostentatious  life,  7,  328  ; his 
death,  8 ; his  palace,  now  the 
Cancellaria,  8 note 

Risarcimento  of  Vatican  frescos, 
215,  216 

Roselli,  Cosimo,  his  fresco  in 
the  Sistina,  284 

Rota  porphyretica  in  S.  Peter’s, 
33,  42 

Rovere,  Domenico,  Cardinal  of 
San  Clemente,  his  palace  in 
Rome,  239 

Rovere,  Francesco  della.  (See 
Sixtus  IV.) 

Rovere,  Francesco  Maria  della, 
favourite  nephew  of  Julius 
II.,  inherits  Urbino,  6;  in 
command  of  papal  army,  226  ; 
his  supposed  likeness  in  the 
Scuola  d'  Atene , 226  note  ; 
assassinates  Alidosi,  235  ; 
commended  by  public  senti- 
ment, 241  and  note  ; excom- 
municated by  Julius  II.,  and 
afterwards  absolved,  250 

Rovere,  Giovanna  della,  156 
note 

Rovere,  Giovanni  della,  ances- 
tor of  the  Dukes  of  Urbino, 
6 

Rovere,  Giuliano  della.  (See 
Julius  II.) 


S 

Sabadino  degli  Adenti,  94 
Sack,  of  Prato,  343,  365;  of 
Rome,  215,  332 

Sacrosanctce , Julius  II. ’s  bull 
convoking  the  Lateran  Coun- 
cil, 243 

Sadoleto,  his  praise  of  the  Lao- 
coon,  94 

Sagre  grotte  Vaticane , 33,  38 
and  note , 44 

Saint-Gelais,  quoted,  219 
Saint  George , Raffaello’ s,  336 
Sau  Biagio,  design  of,  132  ; its 
remains,  132  note 
Sangallo,  Francesco  da,  letter 
concerning  discovery  of  the 
Laocoon,  93 

Sangallo,  Giuliano  Giamberti 
da,  Michelangelo’s  corre- 
poudence  with,  48,  49,  58; 
superseded  with  Julius  II.  by 
Bramante,  131  ; consulted  as 
to  the  Sistina,  271 
Sansovino,  Andrea  Contucci  da, 
his  work  in  S.  M.  del  Popolo, 
59,  60,  209  ; character  of  his 
work,  113,  114;  his  Baptism 
of  Christ , 209 

Sant’  Angelo,  castle  of,  3,  8, 
249,  258 

Salito  Corporale , miracle  of  the, 
335 

Santo  Volto , altar  of,  in  S. 

Peter’s,  37,  45 
Saturn,  temple  of,  77,  78 
Savonarola,  his  influence  on 
Michelangelo,  88,  279,  280-3, 
292  ; his  portrait  in  the  Dis- 
puta, 193,  194  ; peculiarity  of 
his  preaching,  279-82 
Schmarsow,  A.,  his  Melo  zzo  da 
Forti,  5 note  ; his  edition  of 
Albedini,  145  note 
Scuola  d’  Atene,  fresco  of  the 
Segnatura,  devoted  to  the 
“Liberal  Arts,”  195,  196;  a 
well-known  theme,  196-8  ; its 
seven  traditional  parts,  198- 
200  ; personages  represented, 


3§4 


Index 


Scuola  d’  Atene— Continued 
200-203  ! the  two  central  fig- 
ures, 203-205  ; contains  repre- 
sentation of  the  new  S. 
Peter’s,  205 

Sebastiano  del  Piombo,  great 
portrait  painter,  66  ; “ restor- 
er ” of  Vatican  frescos,  215; 
his  criticism  of  Raffaello,  237 
and  note  ; question  of  his  col- 
laboration with  Raffaello,  238 
and  note 

Segnatura  Stanza  della,  its 
paintings  bound  together  by 
a common  thought,  166  ; why 
so  called,  172-7  ; pavement, 
174;  decoration  modelled  af- 
ter Perugino’s  Cambio,  177- 
9 ; design  of  its  frescos  purely 
original,  179,  180;  the  devel- 
opment of  a great  thought 
of  the  Trecento,  182-5  ! mar- 
vellous composition  of  the 
cycle,  185  ; the  medallions  of 
the  ceiling,  186,  187;  an  im- 
posing ideal  of  universal 
harmony,  216  ; its  unequalled 
charm,  335 

Sepet,  Marius,  his  work  on  the 
Prophets  of  Christ,  312  note 

Sforza,  Cardinal  Ascanio  Maria, 
his  career  and  death,  106-8  ; 
his  tomb  in  S.  M.  del  Popolo, 
106,  109-n 

Sforza,  Caterina,  widow  of  Giro- 
lamo Riario,  marries  Giovanni 
de’  Medici,  6 and  note 

Sforza,  Lodovico  (il  Moro), 
Duke  of  Milan,  patron  of 
Lionardo  da  Vinci,  71,  72, 
107  ; bis  career  and  downfall, 
106,  107 

Sforza,  Zenobia,  wife  of  Griffbn- 
etto  Baglioni,  161 

Sibyls:  Raffaello’s,  of  the  Pace, 
211,  324;  Michelangelo’s,  of 
the  Sistina,  304,  306-12  and 
notes;  Pinturicchio’s,  of  S. 
M.  del  Popolo,  308  note 

Signatura , great  ecclesiastical 
court  of  appeal,  176 


Signorelli,  Luca,  Michelange- 
lo’s rudeness  towards,  67,  68 
and  note  ; his  grisaille  of  the 
Deposizione , 162  ; his  faults 
of  composition,  167;  his  fres- 
co in  the  Sistina,  284 
Simla,  the,  quoted,  138  note 
Sistina,  Capella,  Julius  II.  de- 
termines to  have  the  ceiling 
painted  by  Michelangelo,  23, 
50,  51,  60,  6r  ; beginning  of 
the  work,  61  ; a visit  to  the 
balcony  of  the  chapel,  97-102  ; 
chapel  closed  for  work  for 
three  years,  272,  273  ; opened 
for  a few  days,  273,  274  and 
note;  entire  decoration  con- 
sists of  human  figures,  275, 
276,  314,  315  ; absolute  origin- 
ality of  the  work,  276,  277  ; a 
simulated  architecture  with 
imaginative  decoration,  his- 
toric scenes  overhead,  and  co- 
lossal isolated  figures  on  the 
slopes,  278  ; immense  power 
of  the  work  at  once  recog- 
nised by  all,  279  ; the  Cap- 
pella built  bv  Sixtus  IV.,  283  ; 
its  architecture  extremely 
simple,  284  ; suite  of  frescos 
below  the  windows,  by  paint- 
ers of  the  Quattrocento,  re- 
present the  Life  of  Moses  and 
the  Life  of  Christ , 284,  285  ; 
employment  of  six  famous 
painters  for  this  cycle  the 
suggestion  of  Cardinal  della 
Rovere,  285,  286  ; historic 

scenes  of  the  ceiling  represent 
the  Creation , Paradise , and 
the  Deluge , 289-302  ; chapel 
dedicated  to  the  Madonna, 
292  note;  biblical  scenes  at 
angles  of  ceiling,  302-4  ; 
Prophets  and  Sibyls  on  the 
slopes  of  the  vault,  304-12  ; 
physical  discomfort  of  view- 
ing the  ceiling,  313,  314; 
completion  of  the  historic 
paintings,  the  Ancestors  of 
Christ , 347-53  ; singular  child- 


Index 


385 


Sistina—  Continued 
ish  figures  in  the  lunettes, 
353,  354  ; Julius  II. ’s  criticism, 
354  ; chapel  opened  finally  on 
the  eve  of  All  Saints,  356, 
357 

Sixtus  IV.  (della  Rovere),  in  Me- 
lozzo’s  fresco,  1,  2 ; friendly 
to  the  humanists,  3 ; began 
the  restoration  of  Rome,  4,  5, 
9,  145  ; originator  of  nepot- 
ism, 6 ; crowned  on  the  ter- 
race of  the  old  Basilica,  22  ; 
his  tomb  in  S.  Peter’s,  38 
note.  39,  44,  336  and  note;  S. 
M.  del  Popolo  his  favourite 
church,  104  ; his  portrait  in 
the  Disputa,  ignote;  founder 
of  the  Sistine  Chapel,  283  ; a 
great  theologian  and  author 
of  a book,  283 

Sixtus  V.  (Peretti),  moved  the 
obelisk  of  the  Vatican,  30 
note  ; his  arms  on  the  ceiling 
of  the  Sala  di  Costantino,  175 
Sederini,  gonfalonier  of  Flor- 
ence, his  advice  to  Michelan- 
gelo, 51,  53  ; Raffaello  begs 
introduction  from  him,  156 
and  note;  an  eminent  peace- 
maker, 342 

Sodoma  (Gianantonio  Bazzi),  his 
early  work  in  the  Vatican 
Stanze,  153;  minor  paintings 
of  ceilings  of  the  Stanze,  155 
and  note;  dismissed  by  Julius 
II.,  156;  influenced  by  Raf- 
faello’s  work,  332 
Spanish  Chapel,  frescos  of  the, 
184,  194,  195 

Spasimo , Raffaello’s,  its  faults 
of  colouring,  337 
Speculum  Humance  Salvationis, 
quoted,  301  note 
Springer,  quoted,  301  note 
Stanze,  the  Vatican,  also  called 
Camercs  Superiores  (Stanza 
della  Segnatura,  Stanza  di 
Eliodoro,  Stanza  del  In- 
cendio, and  Sala  di  Costan- 
tino) selected  for  residence 
25 


by  Julius  IL,  151,  152  ; their 
early  decoration,  152;  ordered 
renewed  under  direction  of 
Bramante,  152,  153  ; this  work 
interrupted,  painters  dis- 
missed, and  decoration  en- 
trusted entirely  to  Raffaello, 
156  ; first  Stanza  completed, 
274  ; two  walls  of  the  second 
Stanza  incomplete  at  the  time 
of  Julius  II.  ’s  death,  321,  333, 
334 

Stazio  Gadio,  his  letters  to  the 
Mantuan  court,  251  note , 
267 

Swiss  Guards,  first  employed 
by  Julius  II.,  their  uniform, 
224  and  note;  in  the  Mass  of 
Bolsena,  269 

Swiss  mercenaries,  employed 
by  Julius  IL,  254,  255,  259 
Symonds,  J.  Addington,  quoted, 
67  note 

T 

Temperantia,  Perugino’s,  in  the 
Cambio,  209  ; Raffaello’s,  in 
the  Segnatura,  210 
Theatre  of  Marcellus,  78,  328 
Three  Graces,  antique  marble, 
146 

Three  Vows  of  S.  Francis, 
fresco,  184 

Tiber , antique  marble,  96,  139 
and  note,  247  note 
Titian,  criticised  by  Michelan- 
gelo, 66  ; in  colouring  supe- 
rior to  Raffaello,  158  ; his 
visit  to  Rome,  215  and  note 
Torrigiano,  his  quarrel  with 
Michelangelo,  67 
Torso,  antique  marble,  greatly 
admired  by  Michelangelo,  96, 
98,  283 

Tournon,  Comte  de,  French 
Prefect  of  Rome,  29 
Trajan’s  Column,  admired  by 
Michelangelo,  80  note;  its 
reliefs  suggested  medallions 
of  the  Sistina,  315  note 


386 


Index 


Transfig uration,  Raffaello’s,  its 
composition  faulty,  191  ; col- 
ouring poor,  337 

Trecentisti,  their  influence  upon 
Raffaello,  183-5 

Trevisano,  Venetian  ambassador 
at  Rome,  218 

Tricarico,  bishop  of,  letter 
quoted,  253  note 

Triumph  of  Death,  184 

Trivulzio,  Francesca,  defends 
Mirandola,  229  ; surrenders 
the  fortress,  231  ; recovers  it, 
235 

Trivulzio,  Jean  Jacques,  French 
general  in  Italy,  234  ; occu- 
pies Bologna  and  repulses 
papal  army,  235  ; is  recalled 
to  Milan,  244 

U 

Uccello,  Paolo,  his  naturalism 
superficial,  75  ; his  biblical 
scenes,  288  ; his  frescos  in  the 
Chiostro  Verde,  293 

“Upper  Rooms”  of  the  Vatican, 
(1 See  Stanze.) 

Urban  IV.,  instituted  the  fest- 
ival of  Corpus  Domini,  318  ; 
represented,  in  the  Mass  of 
Bolsena,  by  Julius  II.,  325 

Urbino,  Duke  of,  Guidubaldo 
da  Montefeltri,  bequeaths  Ur- 
biuo  to  Francesco  Maria  della 
Rovere,  6,  235 

Urbino,  Duke  of.  ( See  Rovere.) 

V 

Vannucci,  Pietro.  (See  Peru- 
gino.) 

Vasari,  quoted,  136,  138  note, 
185,  201,  205,  208,  277  note, 
283.  315  note,  326  and 

note,  331  and  note,  333  note, 


337,  340,  354,  359  ; a valuable 
authority,  171,  172 
Vatican  Basilica.  (See,  under 
Churches,  San  Pietro  in  Vati- 
cano). 

Vatican  Library,  founded  by 
Sixtus  IV.,  1 ; date  of  its 
foundation,  2 and  note;  first 
public  library  in  Italy,  5 
Vatican  Palace,  alterations 
made  in  it  by  Nicholas  V., 
135  ! by  Julius  II.,  135-41  ; 
by  Paul  III.,  Paul  V.,  and 
Alexander  VI.,  174  note 
Vaticanus,  the  hill,  its  early  his- 
tory, 29,  30 

Venice,  the  League  of  Cam- 
brai  against,  218  ; interdict 
laid  upon,  219  ; her  defeat 
and  submission,  219,  220  ; in- 
terdict removed,  220,  221  ; 
truce  with  the  Fmperor, 
221  ; ally  of  the  Pope  against 
France,  224 

Vemis  Felix,  antique  marble, 
139  and  note 

Venus  of  Melos,  antique  mar- 
ble, 83,  139 

Verocchio,  his  fudith,  302 
Vico,  Giambattista,  quoted,  203 
Violin-player,  Raffaello’s,  337 
Vittori,  Francesco,  his  letter  to 
Michelangelo,  224 
Voltaire,  his  resemblance  to  a 
personage  in  the  Disputa,  203 

W 

William  of  Marsillat,  his  painted 
glass  in  S.  M.  del  Popolo,  108  ; 
in  the  Segnatura,  215 
Wilson,  C.  H.,  his  Life  and 
Works  of  Michelangelo,  15, 
16,  81  note 
Wolflin,  287  note 
Wrestlers,  antique  marble,  80 
note 


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